The Sword and the Circle
by Arc Ascendent
Summary: Lillian Amell must face demons within and without, as Cullen realises that the only thing he fears more than losing himself to her is losing her. NOTE: After long hiatus updated and edited!
1. Chapter 1: Contrition

___Hi, this is my first Dragon Age story! It's intended to be a short look at a touching relationship in the midst of personal turmoil, Cullen and my character Lillian Amell, maybe just a couple of chapters depending on reader interest. Otherwise it could almost be a long story! Review please!_

___I decided to try and imagine what it would really be like in the Circle Tower, and it didn't turn out that great for either of our protagonists. Its kind of like you're imprisoned in this tower and watched all the time while being told constantly that you're evil because of something that isn't your fault. It didn't sound all that fun, and then when I started writing it turned out a whole lot worse_

___One big change I made was Jowan-he was pathetic in the game, wet and whiny. He couldn't be a blood mage, it didn't make much sense to me. So I decided to tweak him a bit and he turned out a borderline sociopath. Oh well.._ .

___Anyway, please enjoy! And don't mind the overlong descriptions. They're an occupational hazard_ .

_**Addendum: **This was up a long time ago, and was reviewed very kindly by a number of people back then; so thank you to Rocketfish, Squeeze-the-fish and Medieval Fan, if any of you are actually patient enough to ever look back at this. I have actually updated this according to some recommendations made back then. Any thoughts would be most welcome! And thanks to Auranara, Rocketfish and Ryoku Metallium for putting it on favourites. _

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Kinloch Hold shimmered like a spire of crystal as the fading sunset wreathed the tower in the sombre majesty of its waning golden-red light. Its walls were smooth, impregnable granite, the windows small slits winding their way in sweeping circles up the pitiless sides, and at its crown it tapered towards a thin, spine of stone, precarious, and yet strangely delicate considering the heavy substance that the rest of the Keep embodied, that reared up as if to coax lightning from the clear sky. The Tower was marooned within glassy, deep and dark Lake Calenhad, a spire of stone amidst the waters. The only bridge, once a grand, old construction of marble, had fallen into a state of disrepair unthinkable for its ancient builders, rendering the Tower of the Circle of Magi almost entirely and completely isolated. And yet inhabited still, inhabited by those whose circumstances, whose very nature, demanded this kind of seclusion, at least according to the Chantry; The Circle of Magi…

As night fell, and the Tower stood grim and silent upon the waters, it was easy to see why the place was regarded with such awe and fear by those inhabiting the surrounding areas. It looked spectral, looming and remote, as though it were already half-way in another world. Few gave it more than a single, superstitious glance. Yet if they had, if they had looked closer over shining Lake Calenhad, perhaps they would have seen past its formidable mystique to the flickering light of torches that glimmered within its many windows, to the walled gardens at its feet, trim and well-kept. Perhaps they would have realised, seeing this, that the Tower of the Circle of Magi was not merely fortress, prison or hallowed ground, it was home also. Home to some two hundred or more souls, each one as alike in their dreams, their hopes, their fears, as those who did not dare to even look upon the tower for fear of attracting the evil they believed inhabited it. Alike except for one single, damning fact, that those within the walls of the Tower bore the burden of magic. And those who watched over them, guarded them vigilantly on behalf of the Chantry, the Order of the Templars, were regarded with an awe and dread that might as well have been as remote and fearful as the isolation in which their charges lived. Had any of these superstitious villagers ever considered what it was really like to be mage or, indeed even, a templar, they might have pitied, rather than feared, those imprisoned within the gilded halls of the Tower, in duty or in confinement. For pity was a thing that was rarely found by any who walked within its shadowed precincts.

In a place, there was about halfway up the tower's lofty heights, a small candle flame burned amidst the darkness of a blank, dead window. The candle, a simple wax one, was set upon a table, which was, like everything else in the Tower, an ornate and magnificently crafted piece, but cold and lifeless in its splendour. And its flame fell upon the extent of a single room, a library to be precise, with looming shelves towering to the high ceilings all stacked thick with hundreds of precious volumes, the extent of the Circle's gathered knowledge over its long history. In the flickering shadows at twilight there was something deeply unsettling about the Circle Tower's high, vaulted ceilings, its cavernous hallways, the row after row of books all stacked in great reams of volumes, a weight of knowledge that seemed to press in upon the very air. And it seemed to press in too upon the young woman who sat there in the centre of this vast place at a similarly ornate chair before the elaborate table. The candle was set just next to where her head was bent over an open book, a stream of raven-dark hair rippling in the flickering light down over the rough pages…How old she was, it was hard to say. As if in contrast to the grandeur of the Tower around her, she wore simple, somewhat shapeless robes, linen, grey and uncured with a rough feel to them. With her narrow shoulders and thin hips, the dress seemed to dwarf her, as though she were swallowed up in the swathes of material. But the colour of the robes did somewhat soften the whiteness of her almost translucent flesh, clearly naturally pale, but also drained of all life by her long years within these walls. Her features, bent over the book and deep in concentration, were a puzzle, somewhat severe at first glance, with a high forehead, aquiline nose, rather hollow cheeks, but the austerity of her face was lightened somewhat though by the very cast of her cheekbones, as light and delicate as a dove. Nonetheless it would have been difficult to call her beautiful exactly, she was not as striking as that. There were places though, were a subtler kind of loveliness could have gleamed through, had it been allowed. Such as in her eyes, which were large and lucent, framed by long, dark eyelashes, deep blue and gentle as the waters of Lake Calenhad at twilight, but downcast now. Her hair too, could have been the envy of any Orlesian lady, thick, dark and sleek, like the mane of a pony, yet it was combed back behind her ears severely so that its true radiance was left dimmed and disguised. She was a mage and her name was Lillian Amell. In truth she was nearly 18 years old, though she looked younger. And she was not in fact, alone, though it looked like it for a moment. Mages were never alone, they couldn't be trusted to be alone. From the shadows under the torchlight, she was observed, closely with the hard austere gaze of one sworn to a duty that was a grim necessity. It was a gaze that, no matter though it had been trained upon her for all of 15 years, she still could not get used to bearing upon her shoulders. It was the gaze of a Templar, a man in silk and steel plate, anonymous behind a grim helmet, a watcher, a guardian, and should it come to it, an executioner.

Lillian murmured something briefly, a prayer in fact, then bent her head back over the book once again. Even a student with First Enchanter Irving's trust, dutiful in her attendance of Chantry and class alike, could not be trusted with magic. All mages were watched, at all times, for at any moment the demons of the Fade waited to tempt them into sin and blood magic. Unlike many in the Tower, Lillian had always been sensitive to the Templars' lonely vigils, and she wondered now if the man who was watching her wished she would hurry up and finish so he could move out of the library and return to his fellows. She'd been here most of the day, after all, leafing through the oldest and most revered tomes in an attempt to quiet her mind, for she knew that the time was coming when she would face the most feared of the Circle's tests, the Harrowing and her graduation to a full mage of the Circle. It would be any day now, Enchanter Sweeney had let slip that much. But she knew from experience that if she went over and asked the Templar whether it was bothering him that she kept him up like this he would simply reply that it was his duty to watch over her, and leave it at that. Or perhaps there was a chance he might know her. Lillian was aware that some of the Templars, the less austere and reserved ones did know of her, perhaps on account of her childish attempts to befriend them years back, perhaps because she attended Chantry almost as regularly as they did, perhaps because she always reserved a polite greeting for every Templar, and nearly always thanked them for their thankless vigilance over her. True, the lack of privacy was disquieting at times, but Lillian had learned through her life in this Tower to find some small comfort in the Templars' watchfulness. It was to keep her safe. So long as she was within these walls and under the Templars' eyes, she would always be safe.

"Lillian" The voice, her name, spoken amidst the dust and silence, floated in the air a moment before she looked up to meet its cold threat, as always it posed a sneering mockery to the desperate need for safety that pursued her always outside of the warmth of the Chantry. Jowan…_O Maker, hear my cry…_ Slowly she looked up from her book and offered a weary smile to her friend and her most feared tormentor in the Circle Tower. _Guide me through the blackest night_. Jowan was a tall, thin young man, two years older than Lillian, and in presence and confidence he entirely overshadowed her. Many thought him handsome, she knew, and the splendid blue silk robes favoured by many of their apprentice classmates suited him perhaps best of all of them. His long hair was darker even than her own and swept down to his neck in a shimmering gloss, his eyes were so light blue as to be almost colourless, his flesh was pale too but it suited him, imparting a kind of refined elegance to the angularity of his face. And yet the source of his magnetism was not as easily definable as all that…something burned cold behind those eyes, something that both enthralled and repelled Lillian. _Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. _ "Studying again?" Slowly with the soft tread of a lynx he stepped over to her table, laid a hand casually upon the pages of the book before her, and yet even that merest of motions sent a shudder down Lillian's spine. There was something so…sensual about the elegance of Jowan's calculated ease, and yet dangerous too…like a dagger sheathed in silk. She was not sure what she feared more.

"It's nothing…" She swallowed, moistening her throat which had suddenly dried, and she moved to close the book once again. Maybe she could escape him this time. The Chantry was still open, and initiates were always on watch over Andraste's Eternal Flame there. Perhaps she could plead a prior engagement, a private class with Sweeney, or one of the other enchanters. _Make me to rest in the warmest places_. But she could never deceive Jowan, without raising a finger he softly wrenched the truth from her. Her own weakness, perhaps…but she found him so very hard to resist.

"Let me see" He caught her arm effortlessly, so casually, but there was nothing casual about the way his merest touch sent a cold fire down Lillian's arm right to the darkest corners of her soul. It was that she feared most about Jowan, not merely his own wickedness, of which she grew more and more certain each time she repented before Andraste's Flame, but that he was the one temptation she could never refuse. _O Creator, see me kneel_. Every time she gave in she knew she was more culpable in his wickedness, but she could never find the strength to evade him. _For I walk only where You have bid me_. Jowan glanced briefly over the page before him, his cool gaze sweeping the cramped text in an elegant hand, the sweeping diagrams, all the things that gave so much solace to Lillian under his eyes seemed to transfigure into worthless scribbling, the mindless, powerless ramblings of the long-dead, as he had always dismissed them. "The Four Schools; A Treatise by First Enchanter Josephus…" He said softly "Lillian, aren't we all rather beyond this by now?" _Stand only in places You have blessed._

"Well, yes…" Lillian whispered, looking back down with an obscure, but undeniable sense of shame at the text "I was just…cross-referencing…" Josephus' summary of the magical schools was one of the more basic texts in the Tower. _Sing only the words You place in my throat_. But Lillian had always found new insights hidden inside it, things she found difficult to explain to others, especially Jowan. Josephus wrote in a style she found obscurely comforting, a paternal, grandfatherly way, and she enjoyed imagining as she read what he, one of the links in the Circle's long chain of First Enchanters had been like. In many ways she was closer to these long-dead enchanters than most of her fellows. But how could she explain that to Jowan? She still hungered for his approval.

"You're lying to me, Lillian" Jowan smiled softly, as though he found that deeply amusing "Don't try to tell me that Irving's favourite pupil, the finest mage in our generation at the Circle, finds time to cross-reference Josephus?" He gave a mocking laugh, Lillian smiled weakly. The way he put it, it sounded ridiculous, she sounded ridiculous. She never took her talents for granted, but Jowan, who was nothing more than mediocre at the subtle magic in which Lillian excelled, could still effortlessly belittle everything she had achieved. And she always, always found she believed him. "Spirit, Creation, Primal and Entropy…four fine schools of magic our friend Josephus lists" Jowan reeled them off "And, or so he says, most of us may only be gifted in one of these, the Primal perhaps, but Lillian, dear Lillian, proves differently, isn't that right? For she, superb as she is, straddles the subtler arts of Spirit and Creation alike, the pinnacle of her classes in each." He raised his hands, nodding briefly to Lillian as though to round off a theatrical performance "Lillian, you are living proof that Josephus' scribbling is worthless"

"The First Enchanter suggested there were special cases…" Lillian shifted in her seat uncomfortably. Magic shouldn't be mocked, least of all by those burdened with its infinitely corruptible power. So the Blessed Andraste had spoken, and the Circle had been founded upon Her wisdom, And She was with them still, through Her Chantry. So long as the Circle obeyed the Chantry, their power could still be used for good. But as soon as they forgot how awful their burden was, and the terrible price it had already torn from Thedas, they would stray once more into sin and pride. Yet she dared not speak of such things to Jowan, for fear that he would mock the holy mysteries also. She'd never seen him at Chantry…how could he be so brazen?

"Ah, so you are a special case then, dear Lillian" Jowan ran a hand over the table, alighting briefly upon the pages of Josephus' work, there was more than one meaning to so simple a gesture, to his words also. "Trust Irving to say so." Lillian frowned briefly, nor did Jowan respect the authority of the First Enchanter and her mentor, Irving. The only teacher he seemed to have any kind of regard for was Enchanter Uldred, who had always seemed deeply unpleasant to Lillian, obsequious to his favourites but disdainful of those with lesser ability. Why, there were whispers that he was a member of the Libertarian Fraternity, founded to break the Circle from the Chantry, as if such a thing could even be imagined. She, for one, was deeply thankful that Uldred had left the Tower last week along with a few of the other Enchanters, to fight in the South. But without him around Jowan and Uldred's other favourites, a group of young apprentices and mages well prepared to push the boundaries, were even more insufferable than usual. And First Enchanter Irving, normally anxious to maintain the balance in the Tower, did little to curb them now. "Come now, Lillian, you only read Josephus when you're worried about something" Jowan grinned, flaunting his easy knowledge of her, when she still found him so impossible to understand or predict. "Maybe that Templar you like so much. I heard he's in trouble with Gregoir…"

"Cullen?" Lillian's gaze snapped back to Jowan's cold, mocking eyes "In trouble with the Knight-Commander, why?" Jowan always seemed to have a finger on the pulse of the Tower, knowing every dark secret, all the gossip circulating amongst apprentices and enchanters alike. But when was he telling the truth, and when was he just trying to scare her, she hardly knew. And Cullen was, as Jowan was well aware, one of Lillian's sorest weaknesses.

"Maybe old Gregoir finally got wise to the fact that Cullen rather likes watching the female apprentices" Jowan folded his arms, looking very self-satisfied. But under that, as always when he spoke of Cullen, there was an iron-cold hatred that Lillian scarcely understood but feared to the depths of her heart. "Maybe a couple of girls complained that he switches watches just to be there when they're all asleep. Maybe his soul's in danger…who knows?" Lillian knew instantly that Jowan was lying. Cullen was her best friend amongst the Templars, and she knew he'd never be so light with his vows. He was devoted to the Maker, and to his duty. And he was Knight Commander Gregoir's finest protégé, some of the other Templars thought that Cullen was being lined up to be Gregoir's replacement. Jowan was just being spiteful, as he always was with Cullen. It was like he hated her having anything to do with anything that wasn't him, even though she was always second in his priorities, and there were rumours that he'd…well…been with a number of the other female apprentices. There'd even been an initiate, someone had said, but that was surely a lie. Initiates were vowed just like Templars to chastity, and those few present in the Tower were separated from the mages at all times.

"Jowan, stop it" She said quickly, it was only when she thought of Cullen that she found the strength to stand up to Jowan. Cullen was everything she wasn't, strong, brave, courageous and faithful to his vows and Maker. "Cullen has nothing to do with this, okay?"

"Right, of course" Jowan glanced coldly at her, but in the next moment's brief, taut silence he seemed to decide to let go, which was a relief. Jowan had never made a secret of his dislike of the Templars in general, and Cullen in particular. Privately Lillian sometimes wondered if he and his friends idolised the freedom and power the Tevinter Magisters had so abused rather than fearing the consequences of their hubris. The only one she'd ever revealed her suspicions to Cullen, but he'd assured her that the Templars were keeping a close eye on them. Yet there were places even the Templars couldn't find, things they didn't see…Lillian knew that far too well… "Then what is it, Lillian?" Jowan continued, and his usual cold charm was dented by a sudden annoyance "You're even more uptight than usual"

"It's…" Lillian considered a moment, but she knew that Jowan was in no mood for further delay. He could…hurt her, not in ways that she could tell to Irving, or Cullen or the Revered Mother. Not in places the bruises ever showed. "Enchanter Sweeny let slip that…my Harrowing is being organised." She answered quickly "Its going to be any night now…"

"Your Harrowing?" Jowan looked momentarily and unusually shocked, his pale eyes narrowing "They can't be…?"

"Jowan, I was eighteen at Harvest" Lillian shook her head "It's already later than most, and you're…" She didn't finish, Jowan was older than her, nearly two years older. Uldred's support or no, he wasn't being offered the chance to undergo the Harrowing, not now, not in the near future. The ritual was utterly secret, but it was the only way an apprentice could ever hope to become a fully fledged mage of the Circle. Some never returned from their Harrowing, and others, those deemed too dangerous or too weak by the Templars, were never given the chance. There were alternatives, of course, but none of them were anything she could imagine Jowan choosing.

"Of course" Jowan stepped back, and the habit of cool self-control settled easily enough over him once again. But Lillian knew him better than that, however she might have wished otherwise, and she saw that he was strained almost to breaking. "You're afraid you might not come back then, Lillian?"

"It happened…to Marius and Alina" Lillian's eyes closed for a moment, and she saw the faces of the apprentices the Circle had lost over the last six months float before her gaze. She hadn't known either very well, but…it all felt so wrong, one day they were there with their friends, smiling and laughing while Lillian floated invisibly in the background, the next their beds were empty and the enchanters never spoke of them again. Many apprentices learnt to do the same. Lillian, though, had never forgotten the long line of apprentices, some of whom she had never even learnt the names of, who had vanished during the darkest hours of the night, escorted from their beds by the Templars. It was a part of life in the Circle, knowing that any night you could be the next. But it didn't make it any easier, or ease the thought that her own Harrowing was within touching distance. Intellectually Lillian understood the necessity also, and understood the hard choice the Templars had to make, mages were dangerous, any one of them could be the gateway that a demon used to enter Thedas. If they died now, it was better than them loosing an abomination that would slaughter innocents. There was no choice, it had to be done. But still… "I don't know if I'm ready…" She admitted softly to Jowan. The irony of such a confession was not lost on her, but still…everyone needed someone to confide in.

"It doesn't matter if you're ready or not" Jowan shook his head bitterly "The Templars will come anyway, that's what they do…"

"It's what they have to do" Lillian answered. "What we have to do" If Irving and Gregoir and Cullen, and even the Divine in Val Royeux, believed the Harrowing was necessary, she could not question it.

"So the Chantry says" Jowan replied, then he glanced quickly at Lillian "You know you're not going to fail, right?" Jowan rarely showed her any kind of feeling, and what filled his voice now was closest, most likely, to a kind of self-pity. But still, it was something, and Lillian's feelings, always deeply vulnerable to him, moved in response. "Wynne, Sweeney, even Irving…they all say you're the best apprentice in this generation"

"That's just words, Jowan…" It was rare for Lillian to feel stronger that Jowan, but she did momentarily now "The Harrowing, that's real…what if I fail?"

"At least you're being given the chance" Jowan muttered darkly. At once the moment was done, so suddenly that Lillian wondered briefly if she had even seen anything at all. Jowan wasn't the type to show weakness, least of all to her. "So…you're going to be a mage soon, Lillian?" He looked up to her again, cool and predatory "You'll move up the Tower, get your own dormitory and everything?" Lillian paused, nodded slowly, unsure of what Jowan's intentions, and his point, was. It was true, mages were lodged privately… "I'll miss our little talks" Jowan said softly. Lillian tensed, her fingers tightening upon Josephus' treatise…she felt a surge of exhausted anguish, was that how he put it, what happened between them every night he was not engaged with some other woman? But it was true, she glanced away…if she succeeded in the Harrowing, it would come to an end. Jowan wouldn't be able to reach her, touch her, in the mage's quarters. Could she even dare to hope things might change?

"Yes" Lillian answered at last, glancing back at him. Her bond to Jowan was a sick, diseased thing…born out of her desperation and his thirst to control and degrade some weak thing, take out his own imprisonment on her, to force the control none of them had over their own lives on something he could dominate utterly. She was like an animal to him, worse than that, some crawling wretched creature he could kick again and again knowing that she would always come back to his feet whenever he needed to feel masterful over something. Her own behaviour sickened her, she knew it would sicken Cullen, the Revered Mother, First Enchanter Irving too, if they knew. But she didn't have the strength to break free. She was afraid of him, knew he could make her life Hell if she tried to fight him, and more than that…in some deep and dark part of herself she allowed it all to happen because it felt like all she had. Yet maybe with floors of the Tower between them she could finally escape him, and more than that, escape her own weakness and the longing for him that she couldn't rip out.

"What we have, Lillian, its different, isn't it?" Jowan gazed down at her, daring her to voice her thoughts. He often said that, as if to stop her asking why she got only his perfunctory night time visits and none of the sleek compliments and charming gifts he charmed other women with. He dumped them all soon enough, only her he kept coming back to. "I think you and I understand each other, don't you?" Now he was mocking her, she decided, but in fact it was hard to say how he intended her to take the remark. To be sure she perhaps alone in the Tower, except maybe for Cullen, understood that Jowan's charm was as hollow as the loving words he sometimes murmured in her ear, when she could tell he hardly knew it was her beneath him. That he was cruel, and vicious, and his hatred for the bounds of the Circle went far beyond what most mages would dare to express, and, deep within all that, she knew that he did not believe in the Maker. And he knew her too, knew her more than anyone else, even Cullen, because unlike Cullen he knew the depth of her slavish weakness and he knew her secret sins. He knew how to make her feel worthless, keep her under his thumb. Knowing that she stayed silent, watching him slowly step up to her chair. "We don't have much time left, do we?" His voice went soft, rumbling hungrily.

"Jowan, not now" Lillian shook her head, refused, like she did every other night. It wouldn't last she knew with sickened certainty. "Not tonight…"

"Why not?" Jowan's hand alighted upon her shoulder, his touch was cold as ice even through the rough linen of her gown "I think we both need it…" No, you need this, Lillian thought desolately as she sank back into her chair beneath the soft seductive sin of his touch tracing the curve of her shoulder. You need this to tell yourself that, though I am to have my Harrowing and you are not, that you are better than me still. The only way you know how…

"Jowan" She raised an arm, brushed his hand away "No" Courage, Irving had told her once that courage was the key to the Harrowing, she had to have courage like Cullen did.

"Lillian" Jowan lowered his head closer to her, so that his hoarse breaths stirred the strands of her dark hair against her cheeks. She felt the lust in his eyes, it was foul and evil. And yet, oh Maker, she wanted it as well, wanted his touch on her obliterating the thoughts of the Harrowing to come and the constant thoughts of sin and guilt that plagued her heart, and, by the Divines, she wanted him too. She desired Jowan, that was the darkest secret of all, the one she scarcely admitted to herself except now, when he was so close that she burned with the fire of it, so that lies were impossible. "You're not going to say no to me, are you?"

"I…have, Jowan" Lillian couldn't look at him. She knew if she looked at him she would be lost. Cullen, think of Cullen and of the good clean piety of their friendship. If Cullen knew what she did with Jowan he would hate her, it had to stop now, after so many years of pointless vows and abject failures and hopeless begging for absolution. Her eyes fell once again on the Templar standing there in the shadows, a silent sentry to what was happening. What he was seeing, what he must think he was seeing, a coquettish, teasing young woman saying no to her lover just to play games with him, he must have seen it a hundred times before in the feverish atmosphere of the Circle, where teenage assignations were two a penny. And he wasn't going to stop this, no doubt he thought they were both equally guilty and sinful. She could make him if she could only try, if she only screamed or cried out, if she only resisted, fought harder…but how could she resist when she was burning with him, his touch sent a fever through her mind that burned through her denials. Jowan had exacted such a price for his friendship over the years since that first night when she was barely twelve and he fourteen, but that price…to know that she was something to someone, to feel for a moment the sweetness of lying in someone's' arms and the dark pleasure that his touch brought her …sometimes it almost seemed worth it.

"Don't do this, Lillian" She felt Jowan's hand run through her hair, sending it fluttering from the severe cut to which it was normally confined, she heard, and felt him, inhale deeply as though to drink in the scent of her. She gasped, hoarse and sharp, her head falling back against the chair. "Not now. You want this, as much as I do, don't pretend you don't." He lowered his head next to hers, and she knew that he'd seen where her gaze had fallen before. "The Templars don't give a damn about us" He muttered "We're all abominations to them, doesn't matter who we are, what we do, having magic is enough to damn us all in their eyes. And…" His mouth was so close to her ear, that she could feel his breath, feel the warmth of him. "Your Cullen, he thinks exactly the same. He'll never love you…he can't. You'll never be more than a mage to him."

"Jowan…" Lillian gripped the sides of her chair, his words were like torture. How he knew her, and this, to take the thought of Cullen, that had been giving her the strength to try and resist the sinful offer, and turn it to another shame, speak to her darkest doubts and her deepest secret hopes about her innocent relationship with the Templar.

"Accept what you are Lillian, you are a mage" Jowan muttered, a whisper as soft and sinful as the voice of Dumat the Old God that had tempted the Magisters to breach Heaven "The Chantry will see you shackled and damned, Andraste will never hear you, the Maker doesn't care. But we can turn that into a strength, if you'll let me. You're powerful, more powerful than I am, let me help you…"

"Jowan!" Jowan leapt back, relinquishing his hold over her, and she fell back against the seat of the chair the moment they both heard the voice raised in wrath, a familiar voice. Cullen…Lillian barely managed to raise her head, feeling shock and shame and horror clasp her at the throat. But she would have known Cullen before she looked up into his blazing eyes, as she'd always known him even when he had his helmet on, the visor closed, a barrier she alone could cross. She'd have known him anywhere. It was the way he carried himself, his build beneath the bulky, ornate shining steel armour of the Templars, something so simple as the way he gripped the sword at his belt with gauntleted fingers shaking with rage. Cullen…she looked up into his face, surprised momentarily that he was not wearing his helmet, but helplessly nonetheless drawn to him. Cullen wasn't handsome like Jowan, somewhat battered like a soldier older than he was, but his hair, cut short and ruffled from where he ran his hand through it when he was worried, was a beautiful red-gold, like the burning sunset upon Lake Calenhand. He shaved close, but he always managed to miss the stubble, that same reddish colour, around his lips. Lillian had, in the long talks they'd shared while he was on duty, decided that she liked that he did. His eyes were brown, a deep brown, they too were older than the rest of his face, the eyes of a scholar in the features of a warrior, except now, when he was angrier than she had ever seen, and they burned as the gaze of a twenty year-old young man, even one sworn to religious work, only could. What had he seen, Lillian thought with panic, what had he thought he'd seen? When had he entered the library? Why? "Get away from her, Jowan" Cullen growled. He hadn't looked at Lillian yet, all his ire, his burning fury, was bent toward the suddenly sullen Jowan.

"Please, Chantry-boy, don't strain yourself on her account" Jowan sneered. He was angry too, furious even, but where Cullen's anger blazed hot, Jowan's burned cold. "Getting into her bed is far easier than that…" In a flash of steel and a movement so swift that Lillian barely caught it happening, reeling as she was from Cullen's sudden appearance, and Jowan's foul words, Cullen's sword was suddenly out and in his hand, the point inches from Jowan's head. Even Jowan flinched…

"Get out of here Jowan" Cullen ordered, his whole body shaking with rage, but his sword was still held straight and still, long training had clearly made it so. "Or I will strike you down and save the Knight-Commander the effort of the Rite" Jowan's fist tightened slowly at his side, Lillian felt the tension palpably rise in the air, as she sat there, frozen in terror. It was impossible that Jowan was even considering attacking Cullen…but…

"I would never dream of standing in the way of the Templars" Jowan stepped back slowly, he'd been humiliated, and he knew it, but he had no choice. Even if he was insane enough to strike Cullen, the Templars were trained to fight the magic of the fiercest maleficars and apostates. No apprentice could take them on and win. "She is all yours, Cullen." He sneered nonetheless, as he slipped back, in a swirl of blue robes "Lillian likes it rough, if you're man enough to try" Then he was gone, and Lillian collapsed back into the chair, she felt hot tears burn in her eyes, as she raised trembling hands to her cheeks. Oh Maker…

"Lillian…" She heard the hiss of steel against leather as Cullen sheathed his sword once again, and stepped up to where she sat. She couldn't look at him, though, not after what Jowan had said, not after what he'd seen. Slowly he bent his knees and crouched down next to her chair. "Are you alright?" He said nervously, as though he was afraid she would shatter "He didn't hurt you?" She raised her head, and looked at him through the mist of tears…he was suddenly utterly unlike the fearsome holy warrior who had just faced down Jowan, now he looked young and unsure, as he always did around her, as though he wasn't sure exactly what to make of her, of her tears and smiles alike.

"No" She managed to say, almost choking on the word. Was it possible he didn't believe Jowan's words, that he thought her too pure to be so involved with him? That he had seen her as an unwilling victim…rather than the all-too culpable sinner she was, drenched in her vile desire for Jowan? Oh Maker what sweet, sweet folly…

"I swear Lillian…" Cullen vowed, his voice trembling suddenly, with anger or with the nervous devotion with which he had always approached her, she could not tell which, perhaps both… "If he ever touches you again I'll kill him. I promise…"

"Cullen…" Lillian breathed, Maker forgive her if such a thing ever came to pass. Cullen was good, too good for her…why was he spending his anger like this upon a mage in his care? It wasn't right…it shouldn't be done, and yet her disobedient heart welcomed it nonetheless.

"Lillian…" Cullen reached forward, and she started with shock as his gauntleted hand suddenly took her own upon the arm of the chair in an embrace of cold steel. She started. He'd never, ever, touched her…never, not all these years since she, a fifteen year-old desperately trying to listen at Chantry, had met the gaze of a nervous novice Templar across the altar. He'd looked away right away, but…all through the service somehow their eyes kept meeting, until she'd had the urge to smile, to laugh, in the midst of holy service. She always wished she had met him first, before Jowan, then maybe he could know all of her and she wouldn't have to hide so much from him. She felt a strong longing to touch his cheek tenderly, brush her fingers across the stubble above his upper lip to see if it was soft or rough, and she knew in her soul that she'd always wanted more than friendship from him, though she'd always pretended otherwise. And so had he, until now, until he'd touched her hand. But this, this wasn't really touching, for the steel gauntlet stood between them, but somehow she could still feel him, could feel the pulse in his veins, the heat of his skin, Cullen… "I'm here, because…" He swallowed nervously "It's time, Lillian. I have to escort you upstairs. It's time for…your Harrowing"


	2. Chapter 2: Resolution

_At long last, I have uploaded this, Chapter 2 of this story! Once again, my apologies for the very long delay! If you're coming to this even if you read it once before, its very likely you'l have to re-read Chapter 1 so go ahead. This isn't going anywhere. And I promise I'm not going to take that long for Chapter 3!_

_I've written from Cullen's point of view here, so any thoughts on how well I've captured his 'voice' would be good. _

_Regardless, my thanks once again to anyone who reviewed the last chapter, and to you as well, reader. Any thoughts would be most welcome!_

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They walked together, Mage and Templar, and the vastness of the Tower fell away beneath them as they climbed its narrow stairwells higher and higher. His heavy, graceless footfall, with the hollow clash as steel fell upon stone, matched itself to her silent, elegant tread. They did not speak, silence surrounded them, enfolded them, like the moonlight as each time they passed one of the Tower's narrow windows and together were bathed, baptised in a silver stream. Walking between light and shadow, the achingly pale Lillian seemed more spectral than human, a sylph or a ghost, as though if Cullen reached out to comfort her, his hand would simply pass through her. The thought was strange…and he felt his fingers tingle at the remembrance that her hand had lain within the cold steel gauntlets that had always felt so natural on his hands, but which now seemed so constricting.

A flush touched his cheeks, and he was glad of the shadows to hide his awkwardness. Under the light he normally made such a fool of himself with Lillian that a few of her fellows, the other apprentices, had begun to notice something, suspect something. He saw it in their eyes, haughty arrogance, the same sneering pride that had damned the world, and knew what turn their minds were taking. The apprentices who had not been through the Harrowing, who had not learned humility or begun to suspect the evil they faced, the evil they were, these were the most troublesome, and he could not give them any reason to cause trouble for Lillian. Like that trouble-maker Anders, the irreverent and guileful one, he'd seen him watching Lillian a few times appreciatively, and felt sickened with anger, knowing that Anders had the pick of the women of the Circle, or some of those young women…the ones who used the silence of the Circle Tower not for prayer and penance as it was meant, but for luxury and licentiousness. The ones who cast their eyes even on the Templars, tried to flirt with them and play games with them whenever they could, as though the Chantry's dire charge was a joke. But Jowan…that Jowan was the darkest of them all…he did not know why Lillian had slipped into his orbit, but he could do little more than he had done without drawing further attention. Thankfully none had been there to witness him drawing a sword on an apprentice…but it already seemed like he was walking a fine line whenever Lillian was concerned. Had Knight-Commander Greagoir ordered him to take her to the Harrowing on purpose, a test, perhaps? He suppressed a shudder as he thought of what might come to pass this night. If Lillian had to be saved from herself…he would be the one.

And they climbed, higher, Cullen knew, than Lillian had ever been before in the Tower: past the quarters of the apprentices, past the chambers where full mages and enchanters kept court, past the office of her mentor, First Enchanter Irving himself, and into the shadowy unknown, and the higher they climbed the more frantic and irregular the fall of her silken slippers became, though somehow the steady pace of their ascent remained constant. Her lips were moving, though he was trying very hard not to look at her somehow he became aware of it, and he knew what she was whispering. _My Maker know my heart, Take me from a life of sorrow, Lift me from a world of pain, Judge me worthy of your endless praise_, it was from Transfigurations…her favourite. He knew what would be going through her mind, she would think of a thousand different things the Harrowing could be…and the truth was it was a hundred times worse than any of them. But he knew he had to keep that hidden, any more knowledge would not help her now, but still he wanted to say something…anything…to help her.

"These are the Templar quarters…" His voice sounded impossibly loud when he finally found the courage to offer the comment, as they passed into the most familiar part of the Tower for him, though it had to be impossibly alien for her, with its weapons and banners hung on the bleak stone walls, and stern portraits of Knight-Commander's past, watching them coldly from high up. They both jumped, as the noise echoed down the corridor, and Cullen found himself flushing even deeper. He knew better…the mage had to face the Harrowing alone, it was better to simply leave them to their thoughts, their prayers, and Lillian's prayers were pure. They'd serve her better than his fumbling.

"You live here?" She whispered, drawing her linen robes closer around herself. Cullen nodded, uncomfortably aware that it didn't present the most homely picture. The corridor ahead of them was freezing cold, and completely empty, unlit but for the moonlight. Tonight, the night of a Harrowing, the Templars had either gone to their duties elsewhere in the tower or were in their own rooms deeper within. No one loitered in the corridors as they did on the usual nights, talking of everything from the latest devotions from Val Royeux to sword-play and advances in weaponry, with the fires roaring in their grates. Sometimes the younger Templars played draughts, or cards, and sometimes there was even ale up from the kitchens, if the Knight-Commander was in a good mood. It was then the Templar Quarters felt like a proper home. But by unspoken tradition the mage was to see no one as she ascended towards her testing.

"I stay over there" He said, pointing up the corridor, inexplicably eager to share what little he could of his life with her, this one chance they had. "A couple of us share it, me, Ser Carroll…"

"Oh, Ser Carroll" She brightened slightly "He's so funny…" Cullen glanced at her, feeling uncomfortable again. He knew that Lillian had not escaped notice during her studies, even amongst the Templars. How could she not, mentored by the First Enchanter himself, personally…something that was unheard of for an apprentice? Sometimes she'd come up when the Templars spoke about their charges, a necessity in case anyone noticed something suspicious…Hadley, Knight-Commander Gregoir's second-in-command had mentioned in passing that he was certain she'd make First Enchanter herself one day. Others had expressed admiration for her faithfulness to the Chantry, her friendship with the Revered Mother. But the younger Templars, his friends, liked her for other reasons, they all did, he could tell. Few of the young women apprentices talked to them at all, least of all like they were friends, Lillian did. By the Maker, Cullen liked Carroll. Like Lillian said, he was funny, a breath of fresh air when things got too dour in the Templar Quarters, always a joke or a smile on his face, but when the ale was flowing he turned to other jokes that Cullen found disquieting for his vocation. Did he have designs on Lillian? He flushed again, and fell silent awkwardly in case he said something that gave him away. "Wait…Cullen?" As they reached the base of another flight of stairs she froze suddenly, and he paused too before alighting on it, aware that this was the last before they reached the Harrowing Chamber. "Cullen…" She gripped her gown with one hand, her breaths coming quick and hoarse, panic seeping into her voice. "Could…we wait a moment?" Greagoir's voice flashed through his mind, 'do not stop for anything, these mages are not our masters, we are their guardians, and the Harrowing is paramount. It cannot be delayed…'

"Yes" He said quickly, before his mentor's reprimand could quite sink in. He didn't quite know what he was doing, delaying wouldn't help Lillian…only, perhaps it would let her be at least a little better prepared. It wouldn't put the Harrowing in jeopardy to simply give her a minute, and it might save her. She deserved to be saved. They stood in silence a moment, and Cullen shifted his weight from leg to leg awkwardly, wondering what was going through Lillian's head, what he could say to console her without betraying his duty.

"Cullen, do you know anything about the war?" She asked suddenly.

"The war…in the south?" He said, glancing at her curiously, shocked that she'd bring it up now, on the night of Harrowing. But, then again, he'd noticed that apprentices coped in different ways, sometimes talking helped them, even if Templars weren't supposed to reply. But Lillian rarely showed any interest in the outside world, as was proper for a mage. They lived here, they atoned and prayed, they studied new ways for magic to help people, they tutored others below them, all under the care of the Templars who looked after them and protected them from danger. They didn't look to adventures, or wars, where they'd only do damage to others, or get hurt. That was the way things were meant to be, it was the way Andraste had intended them.

"Wynne left…" Lillian said. She had stopped too, and was looking at him intently. "I was wondering…if she was in any danger" Wynne had been her favourite instructor, he knew that. She'd always lit up on the way to Wynne's class. So why had Wynne left the Tower, answering the Grey Warden's foolish call, following the First Enchanter Irving's sophistry against Greagoir's righteous and true protests? It was irresponsible of her to leave her students alone and fearful.

"They say it's a Blight, and the King's riding out to meet the Darkspawn at Ostagar" Cullen, who had listened intently when the battles in the South had come up in the Templar Quarters, answered. Talk had been of little else since the call had come for mages to join the fight. "But there are Templars with her and the other mages, so long as she follows their orders she will be kept safe"

"I suppose they need her to heal the soldiers, I've never seen anyone who could heal like Wynne could…" A devastating look of sorrow passed across Lillian's face, but it wasn't merely for her teacher. "So many people will get killed, or wounded, won't they?"

"It is a war" Cullen said stoically. "The Darkspawn are vicious monsters, they need to be exterminated. And the Grey Wardens are riding so the Archdemon will be defeated before long anyway" But she didn't look convinced so he leaned in awkwardly, trying to think of a way to calm her down. He didn't question the necessity to quieten her, only it felt as right as those times when he'd helped her reach the books on the shelves that were too high, or made sure she had a seat at Chantry, or left the door open when she dreamed too long out in the garden and almost missed curfew. He knew it must be herself she was worried about. She must fear the Darkspawn, tainted vile things they were…but they wouldn't come here, not while the Maker watched this place, watched over her. "I…" He coughed suddenly, unsure of what he saying but the words ran away from him as they always did. "If the Darkspawn ever come here, the Templars will protect the mages, and I will protect you, that is the way the Maker intends it, isn't it?"

"Yes…it is" She murmured slowly, softly, simply. There was a window behind her, and she was surrounded by the moonlight pouring into it. Her dark hair looked like it was interwoven with silver, her features were almost in shadow, but her eyes shone out from within them. Light was all around her. He'd seen her do magic before, practicing for her instructors when he watched over the classes, and it was a little like this…so beautiful, but deadly, dangerous…a threat. He withdrew, and remembered that it was highly improper for an apprentice to pause on the way to her Harrowing, with questions that he wasn't supposed to answer. By the Maker, they were steps from her Harrowing, and tarrying like this! Greagoir would be disappointed.

"Come, we've waited long enough" He said, making his voice as gruff and distant as he could. "The First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander are upstairs, the Harrowing cannot wait." He drew back, allowing her to step up first, and she fell into silence again. His hand clutched at the hilt of his sword as he followed her, and he remembered the Blade of Mercy that had struck down the Prophet Andraste as she burned upon her pyre. His own sword might be a blade of mercy tonight, if Lillian failed. It would be a blessing, he told himself, to free her from temptation, she would go to the Maker's side in an instant and be free for ever of the whispers of demons. He'd seen her sleep on his long vigils in the apprentice rooms, watched how she moaned and murmured as though something was holding her and trying to whisper darkness in her ear, and he'd hated the creatures in her head and yearned through the night to place himself between her and them. Tonight was his chance. He would save her…save her if he had to, but Maker please don't let her fail…Maker let her live…she was a great mage, and faithful and true, she could do so much good for You, Maker. But as he followed behind her he heard Greagoir's words in his mind over and over again, as he'd waited in the Knight-Commander's office for the summons and felt his heart freeze 'To be sure she's strong, never seen a mage like that one yet before, but by Andraste she's weak-willed, never says no, never questions, like her association with that Jowan boy…might just be the death of her, Irving, you know that.' And as he followed in her footsteps, he touched his hand to his brow and prayed, _Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood the Maker's will is written_. Maker, Andraste, Your will is my guide, but please protect her…and as he prayed, he knew he sinned and hated his sin, but he could not stop sin or prayer, and they mingled and swam in his head until it ached. Don't let the Fade swallow her, don't let me lose her…Maker protect her…

Oooo00000ooooo

It was here…the pinnacle of the Tower of the Circle of Magi, she stood as high as ever she had stood, as ever any mage within these walls had stood. Once, she knew, this place had been a tower of the Tevinter Imperium, the tyranny of magic that the Circle was founded to stop ever happening again. What horrors had this chamber been built to contain, and why such beauty and grandeur to veil such corruption? The terror of the Harrowing, all her confusion, it all fell away as she paused a moment upon the top of the stairs and took the room in. It was the largest space in which she'd ever stood, larger than anything she could have imagined stone to surround. The ceiling arced up an unimaginable distance above her to the vast dome at the very summit of the tower, vaulted with stone that seemed almost too delicately crafted to bear such a massive weight. It was a vast circle, one room that spanned the whole width of the Tower itself. Where downstairs corridors, rooms, dormitories were all contained in a space as large as this one, here no walls bound the vastness of the place. Only the sweeping patterns of a white mosaic upon the black floor, curls and curves that interlocked for a moment only to spring away from one another as your eye travelled along them in a dizzyingly complex dance, divided it up at all. Otherwise it was bare and unornamented, except for the simple silver font in the centre, a bowl standing on a small pillar. But the walls…sweet Maker…they were simply window after window, huge glass panes in the shapes of that spanned…more than her eye could take in, panes of clear glass in the shapes of upturned tulip buds set between stone frames so thin and delicate that they seemed almost organic, impossibly huge flowers in glass and stone. The moonlight poured in streams into whole room, glistening on every surface like a sea of light rising and falling within the room. It was incomparable…

"Lillian…" Cullen's insistent whisper from next to her roused her instantly. She jumped on her feet, and quickly, flushing, found herself the object of a number of different stares in various stages of impatience. First Enchanter Irving and Knight-Commander Greagoir, the twin custodians and leaders of the Tower, both in front of her…though the two men, each formidable in their own way were still small in this room, and in addition two other Templars, anonymous in the half-light, their helmets hiding their faces. Blessed Andraste, four templars, what kind of test was this? She quickly dropped into her most formal curtsey, stumbled slightly on her own feet, and returned to stand straight, blushing furiously. Did she have to make a fool of herself every time?

"Welcome, Apprentice Lillian Amell" Irving was the first to speak, stepping forward slightly with a smile of genuine warmth, as though this were simply another of their lessons and not a life or death test. He was trying to put her at ease, Lillian knew, for there was a strain behind that smile, slight and almost invisible. He worried for her, she felt her heart begin to beat faster. "And young Master Cullen" He turned to the Templar "My thanks for escorting our precious apprentice here intact"

"It is my duty, First Enchanter" Cullen tapped his breastplate in formal salute. Bowing to Irving, and, slightly deeper, to his own mentor, the Knight-Commander, he left Lillian's side to stand by his two silent fellows, the shadows falling over his face. It felt a great deal colder in the room without him near.

"You took your time" Greagoir noted icily, and Lillian flinched at the rebuke. She shouldn't have delayed Cullen on the stairs…she'd just wanted a little more time…what she must have looked like to him! "Lillian Amell…" Greagoir's voice swelled, filling the whole room with echoes, and she knew that the formality of the ceremony, the Harrowing, had begun. "Listen to me, and listen well" The Knight-Commander stepped forward. He was a severe-looking man, with his militaristically straight grey beard, his silver hair swept behind his ears to be as functional as possible. His features were cut from stone, hard and unyielding, with his brown eyes under a stern brow glinting with dutiful vigilance. He wore the Templar's splendid plate armour and the sweeping crimson robes at his feet almost as an after-thought. Lillian had rarely had occasion to speak with him, but she had listened and knew that he was respected for his firm sense of duty and strong faith. That didn't make him any less of an intimidating figure in person though. "Magic exists to serve Man and never to rule over him" He intoned, and Lillian clung to the familiarity of the small section of the Chant of Light, out of necessity one of the most popular chosen for the liturgy in the Circle. "This is the Word of the Prophet Andraste, who ended the tyranny of magic. It is by her holy will that we invoke the Harrowing, the most sacred test you as a mage must pass to be accepted into the Circle of Magi"

"Magic is a gift, child" Irving stepped past Greagoir on his familiar, limping tread. Where Greagoir was carved from rock, Irving seemed more to be shaped from the whorls of an ancient tree, aged and weathered. His long silver hair was a straggly stream to his shoulders and his own beard was full and bushy. His features were worn with age, a spidery web of wrinkles worked into his pale skin. Those kindly dark eyes were as keen as a young apprentice, but deeply shadowed and sunken, giving him a permanent look of exhaustion. His robes were humbler than one would expect, simple green and blue silk, and entirely unornamented. He was Lillian's mentor, and she loved him like a father. But here he could show no favouritism. "Never forget that." He murmured, his voice was gravely and quiet, but always authoritative.

"But it is also a curse" Greagoir nodded to his long-time colleague "All your life you will struggle with demons, rage, desire, pride…these are enemies to all men, but none more so than mages" He lowered his head, fixed Lillian in his daunting stare "You must prove that you can fight these demons, before we can trust you to be a mage of this Circle"

"That is why the Harrowing exists, child" Irving continued "In this chamber you will be cast into the Fade and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will" Lillian's heart pounded so hard against her ribs she almost winced …so that was to be it. She would face a demon, a demon…Maker help her. She understood now, nothing would prove a mage worthy of faith but the strength to face a demon and stand undaunted before it. Those apprentices who never returned…had given in. They had become abominations. "Overthrow it, and be welcomed into our ranks"

"Lose to it…and we Templars shall perform our duty" Greagoir lowered his voice, a rough murmur now, but firm and utterly unyielding. "You will die" Lillian shuddered, it was true then. Death by the hands of the Templars, she still knew this was necessary, there was no other way for them, for mages. But it made the prospect no less a fearful one. Worse, though, was the thought that if she died it would not be as Lillian, but as an abomination, a pawn of a demon. She could imagine no more terrible fate. Losing the Harrowing…it would be worse than death.

"Look, child" Irving stepped up to her, perhaps sensing her distress, and he laid a weathered hand upon her thin arm, directing her to the small silver bowl before them that she had noticed only for a moment. Now she saw the glow around it, a haze of blue light that shifted and warped and changed like fire, and she saw too the liquid that lay within it, liquid so bright and blue that it almost seared her eyes too look into it. It could only be one thing… "Lyrium…" Irving murmured reverently "Your gateway into the Fade" Lillian stared at it a moment, entranced, Lyrium, the holiest substance on Thedas, the very substance of magic. Of course, it enabled mages to walk the Fade living, as she would be called to do. Irving's grip tightened all of a sudden, and she tore her gaze from the Lyrium and found her mentor's eyes, suddenly alight with urgency, his face close to her own. "The Harrowing is a secret from necessity" He murmured, carefully enough, but his eyes were still fixed on hers, glinting with that intensity, trying to warn her of something by the press of his gaze alone. "Every mage must go through this trial by fire. As we succeeded so shall you" He reached out a hand to brush the hair from her face, a fatherly gesture that warmed the chill of fear in her heart "Keep your wits about you, Lillian, and remember, the Fade is a realm of dreams" He said softly "The spirits may rule it, but your will is real"

"The apprentice must go through this test alone, First Enchanter" Greagoir intervened immediately with a stern rebuke, and Irving immediately let Lillian's hand fall, though she still felt the press of his fingers still about her wrist. She turned to Greagoir, who spread a hand to indicate the silver bowl standing there alone, deathly still but for the shifting of the Lyrium within it. "You are ready" He pressed, and Lillian, shuddering, managed to give a brief nod. She had known this test was coming all her life, and that she had no choice but to face it. Now it had come. She closed her eyes a moment, and let a prayer rise in her mind. _My Creator, judge me whole_. Slowly she began the slow, steady advance towards that bowl, each step echoing in the silence upon the stone, and it felt like stepping towards her execution. _Find me well within Your grace_. "Cullen, if you please…" Greagoir's murmur barely registered, as she reached the bowl and stared down into it. The Lyrium was so beautiful, pure, radiant, a piece of the Fade, the substance of creation. She needed only touch it, but her hands were trembling and she was so very afraid. _Touch me with fire that I may be cleansed_.

She heard Cullen's footfall, as slow and ceremonial as her own, and she breathed out slowly, haltingly, when it came to a halt just behind her. He was standing mere inches from her, she could feel him somehow just there, just behind her. So it would be him…she felt a rush of terror, knowing that the moment she touched the lyrium she would fall back against him, and he would hold her there and place his sword across her throat. But Cullen…at least it would be Cullen. He would hold her close while she was gone, and if she…lost he would end her for the good of everyone. That…might be enough. But his presence, his nearness, the sound of his rough breathing, the tickle of it upon the back of her neck, something gave her the strength she needed, and slowly she raised her hand above the bowl. _Tell me that I have sung to Your approval_. Maker help her, Maker help them all…and she plunged her hand deep. And then all she saw was light, light, burning, radiant, resplendent, searing against her closed eyes, so bright she could barely tell it was pure white and blue and absolutely beautiful. She fell back, she felt herself falling, and felt her mind unravelling to some other place, sweeping into the ether, but the moment before she lost all consciousness she thought she heard something in her head. A humming…a melody that was so achingly familiar, but so distant she could barely catch it or pin it down, as though it sang from another world. She felt the press of arms around her, holding her, cradling her, was that Cullen or something else? And the song was in her head...It sounded…beautiful…and dream-like, and then just as she thought she caught it, her mind dissolved in a stream of white light and it was gone.


	3. Chapter 3: Temptation

_Hi, Chapter 3 has come up, and it's a bit longer than I wanted it to be, but there you go! Hopefully everything is worthwhile and important._

_Once again, my great thanks to Gaspode for yet another review that made my day! Also thank you to Varya Ithilfin for putting me on favourites and Walking One for putting me on alert. Hopefully this chapter will keep everyone interested!_

_I've written in italics for the Fade bits, just to make it a little more unreal, if that makes any kind of sense to you. Just say if its off-putting and I'll change it round._

_Once again, thank you for reading!_

* * *

_Light, oh Maker the light…she held to it as long as she could, clasping it in her spreading fingers, screwing her eyes tight so that all she could see was its fading brilliance, and feel the warmth of its wings around her, but it was already departing from her, and an entirely darker reality intruded upon her as it did. She knew at once that she no longer stood in the Tower, or at least her mind no longer inhabited those familiar climes. Her living breathing body lay back in the Chamber, in Cullen's arms, but she could feel no connection to it. Her mind, all that made her Lillian Amell, was here; the Fade …the mystical realm of spirits, of dream, of half-real things. She had stepped through the Veil living, and she stood on forbidden ground. The first thing she was aware of was her body…or at least the form that clothed her here, in all senses identical to that which she had left, but for the fact that this body was not a real one. It was a dream, as much a dream as the ground on which she stood. Simply because she expected herself to be clothed in these thin, bony limbs, this slender, girlish body, even the rough robes she normally wore, all of it had been spun from her mind in the Fade, a realm where expectation, belief, governed reality. But even though everything was familiar and correct, it still seemed slightly wrong; touch, sense, were slightly faded and unreal, as though she felt everything through a slight veil. For one obvious thing, she smelled nothing…not even air, and the silence was absolute. And she breathed, because she expected to breathe, but the air had no substance._

_ She opened her eyes, and the Fade met her gaze. Space, impossible space, was the first thing that struck her. Living her whole life in the shadowed, enclosed safety of the corridors of the Circle Tower had left her with an extraordinary sensitivity to space that she hadn't even realised until now. But the Fade, the Fade was infinite. Space surrounded her, intoxicated her, sickened and exhilarated her, the sky above her and beyond and beneath the platform on which she stood was one vast infinity without form or variation, without depth. The sallow, weak light that lit the scene poured from above, from everywhere, from no localised source. She seized hold of herself immediately, this was a test, her Harrowing…she couldn't let the dream-like unreality stay her. Carefully she assessed her more immediate setting, ignoring the lurch when her gaze strayed once again to the infinite sky. She stood on a floating platform, a platform set in nothingness, organic in form, it curved and warped like some gruesome plant. It was a half-real fusion of natural and unnatural, pieces of buildings flowed into the earth, or reared out against the sky, vaguely plant-like forms grew into rock and back again, nothing was fixed or complete. The unease she felt as she tried to travel along the platform with her gaze was enough to make her head ache. Colours were uncertain, shifting, like something viewed through mist and form itself warped at the edge of her sight. There were other platforms distant out there in the nothingness, floating in the void, other places in the Fade, but they were even more uncertain and shifted, half here and half not at all. But there was a single fixed path onward…a bridge that led down the way across the aching void below to other platforms in the emptiness…clearly she was meant to take it. Her demon, her trial awaited. But she couldn't take a step forward without risking a single look up at the vast structure that actually seemed to break the void, the only thing that seemed solid and unchanging in the Fade. It loomed within the nothingness like a nightmare, impossibly distant on a non-existent horizon but perfectly visible, so black it seemed formed of shadow, a forest of towers, spiked and cold. The Black City…she felt a chill even here._

_ "And there…I saw the Black City, its towers for ever stained" Andraste's words came to her lips automatically, and the sound in the silence startled her out of the dark reverie. She had to go, the longer she tarried, the more the unreality of the Fade seeped into her, sapped her will, distracted her…when she most needed to be alert to its tricks. She slowly stepped forward, her steps were whispers on the ground that beneath them shifted from bare stone to earth to a mass of still leaves. But the Black City was always above her. _

Lillian sagged unconsciously against Cullen, and he held her limp body awkwardly with one arm across her waist to hold her up against her, keeping the blade across her throat with the other, though the hilt seemed impossibly heavy. This was his third Harrowing in this position, and the other Templars had promised that they got easier, but this time the burden had never seemed more precious or harder to bear. His body swam in confusing sensations, and the prayers he murmured to steady himself were sluggish and uncertain. Thankfully the armour stood between them, but somehow at the moments of his most intense weakness it still seemed as though they were touching. He was aghast at how thin she was, how delicate. It felt as though an indelicate touch would break her apart. His hold seemed impossibly harsh, his hands were cumbersome and unwieldy as he tried as tenderly as he could to steady her, letting her fall more comfortably against the curve of his cuirass rather than upon the armour of his shoulder.

"Cullen, has she stirred yet?" The First Enchanter had been pacing restlessly up and down the Chamber for the last half an hour since Lillian had gone under. Now he paused near to them, and peered anxiously through his pinched eyes at his insentient apprentice. He wasn't required to be here at all, but every time Cullen had undertaken his grim part in the Harrowing Irving had remained there in the shadows, a silent sentinel to whatever end came to the apprentice, success or…possession and death. Never had he been as agitated as he was now. He must really love Lillian, it occurred to Cullen, and the thought was a strangely uncomfortable one.

"Nothing, First Enchanter" He started, realising he'd been asked a question, and found himself automatically saluting again. He almost dropped Lillian in his haste, and quickly gathered her up again, blushing furiously as the First Enchanter blinked at him. Thankfully his sword arm remained steady from long training, he'd had to hold it here for hours on other, longer Harrowings, and though it ached he could never let it fall.

"Maker preserve her" Irving muttered absently, then resumed his pacing. Cullen nodded tightly, yes, Maker preserve her, wherever she walked now…

_"Someone else thrown to the wolves…" Lillian Amell stood in the Fade, the realm of dreams. She stood on an impossible platform, upon a narrow pathway over the void, and on each side there was a vast precipice down to the nothingness below. Amidst all the unbelievable things around her, she found herself now facing up to a rather oversized mouse. A talking mouse. It was not what she'd been expecting, not in the slightest. "As fresh and unprepared as ever" The mouse said, its nose twitching as it spoke, in the halting, nervous tones of an earnest young man. It was rather an adorable little thing, not like the rats that haunted the dark corners of the tower, this one had a pert little nose, and downy fur. But it was still a mouse, a talking mouse. "But it doesn't matter, it's always the same" It continued "They did it to me, they did it to you, it's not right, what the Templars have set up here" Now that was curious, if a little blasphemous. This was certainly not the demon she had come to face._

_ "Are you…a mage?" She murmured, and the mouse gave a curious motion that was rather like a shrug._

_ "I was, once…" It said "And I could be so again, perhaps…for you" Suddenly its form dissolved in a blooming of light,, light that was almost too bright to bear except for the curious blurring qualities of the Fade. As it burned with the magic its very form shifted, grew, blossomed upwards until it stood before her a figure sketched in light, standing to Lillian's height. Then the light was gone, and she was facing a rather small, rather mousy young man. He wore a mage's robes, red and orange, silky as was the fashion but even Lillian could tell these were trying far too hard. His auburn shoulder length hair was too greasy to affect the wind-swept glamour it tried to cultivate, and his face was blotchy with freckles. "Allow me to welcome you to the Fade" He spread his arms, an ironic, almost sardonic, note to the gesture accompanying the bitterness in his voice. "You can call me…well…Mouse"_

_ "But, surely that's not your real name?" Lillian glanced at him more closely. She didn't recognise him. But he could have been anyone, there were dozens of mages like him. What was he doing trapped out here, wandering around in a mouse's body?_

_ "I don't know my name anymore" He looked sheepish "I've forgotten nearly everything, from before. It's this place, you know…it slowly saps all you are from you. I've spent so long hiding, being small, trying to escape the demons that haunt this place that hiding is all I've become. Hence that disagreeable little mouse; a nifty little trick to get you out of a spot of trouble here. It's the only reason I've survived." He shrugged again, and Lillian remembered what Irving had whispered to her about the Fade. Your will shaped what you were…was it possible that you could even change your own shape, occupy another form? Yes…if you believed it enough. "You make me remember slightly however" He observed softly "May I travel with you a little longer? I should like to see how you fare at least"_

_ "Of course" Lillian said, what did she have to lose? He knew the Fade, he might be able to help her on her way. And some small conversation, even as unsettling as what Mouse could offer was, would aid her at least a little. If she was to face a demon, she would have to reign in all her passions, be as holy and righteous and dutiful as she could. Fear was itself a vice, when the Maker ordained a duty to be followed, and so she should find her courage. If a little company helped her do that, there was no sin in that. _

_ "Thank you" Mouse inclined his head "My chance was long ago, but you might have a way out" She nodded, and as she moved away he began to follow, slotting in place beside her. He didn't turn back into a mouse quite yet, but retained the form of the rather gangly young mage, and he seemed to be looking at her expectantly. Well…if he wished to talk…_

_ "How did you get trapped here anyway?" Lillian asked_

_ "The Templars murdered me, of course" Mouse's voice grew animated, fiery as he spoke, for the first time and a flush stained his blotchy cheeks. "And they'll do the same for you. If you take too long, even if its because you're just scared, or…or…trying to work up the courage to face that thing they have chained up and waiting, they kill you anyway. Even if you're not possessed." He glanced away, out into the infinite expanse, and instantly he mellowed again. Lillian was aghast at what he'd said, but even so she noticed that his anger passed as quickly as it had come. Perhaps he had even too little energy left for the outburst to be anything other than short. But it was curious, he seemed as unreal as anything else here. "That's what they did to me" He admitted softly "I think. I have no body to reclaim anymore. And you don't have much time before you end up the same"_

_ "The Templars must have made some kind of mistake" Lillian ventured cautiously, though she felt a ripple of horror run through her at the thought of what Mouse claimed. No one had told her about any kind of time limit. Surely the First Enchanter or the Knight-Commander…one of them would have mentioned it? But selfishness didn't really become her well, when Mouse needed her sympathy at least. It couldn't be true, the Templars wouldn't do something like that, Cullen wouldn't…besides, Mouse didn't really seem sure what had happened to his body, maybe he was the one making a mistake? But how else to explain it, he had lost his Harrowing clearly, and yet he was not possessed. _

_ "This whole test is a monstrosity" Mouse sighed, with an exhausted, sardonic laugh that somehow mocked her naivety. "What's one more outrage?" He glanced at her with clearer eyes, eyes that were actually a rather pleasant green_

_"You're wrong, you know" Lillian said, with some spirit. Normally she shied away from conflict, even the friendly debates that sometimes came about in the apprentice dorms, but Mouse's bleak resignation was easier to face than the anger and mockery with which some mages approached the Chantry. "The Templars are good people." She continued, trying not to falter though she saw a flash of naked scepticism, almost anger, rush across his features. Perhaps if he realised the truth, that there must have been something gone wrong in Harrowing, that the Templars wouldn't just kill someone because they'd taken too long, he could stop haunting this place in his bitterness, find some way to move on. She immediately thought of Cullen, he'd know what to say. "I know some of them…my friend…Cullen…"_

_ "Cullen, you say?" Mouse shook his head, bleakly, despairingly, and she fell silent immediately, shocked once again, that he clearly recognised the name. "Are you certain he's your friend?" Mouse murmured "Cullen was the Templar who killed me" _

"Don't pretend you aren't keeping time to the second, Greagoir" Irving wheeled around, the open frustration in his voice was astonishing, and even the two helmeted Templars, silent and severe observers, stirred with surprise. The argument between First Enchanter and Knight-Commander had been going on for some time, on some pretext Cullen no longer remembered, but that Lillian was at its centre. He'd never seen Irving challenge Greagoir before, and normally he would have watched avidly, but Lillian's continuing closeness kept unsettling him. His awareness of her body, rather than easing as the first hour had gone by, had only grown more intense. "Waiting for the moment you deem fit to slaughter her like an animal, even if she is innocent" Irving spat and Cullen shifted uneasily himself, finding the Enchanter's words struck too close to the bone. The Harrowing was a perilous business, and a deeply imprecise test, but it was the only way they knew to keep the Circle, and the world safe. The Templars had their duty, and that duty included slaying the mages who failed. But sometimes failure wasn't as obvious as the first horrific stirrings of possession, something Cullen had thankfully never witnessed. Sometimes mages stayed under too long, hours would go by, with them unstirring, unwaking, and that was when things grew uncertain. And uncertainty could not be tolerated, not when the safety of every unsuspecting mage below in the Tower was at stake. If it came to that…when the hours shifted past a point when delay would become dangerous, when it became possible that the sleeping mage had either already lost or had become the cocoon of a demon, perhaps a means of subterfuge for one of the more powerful and devious to escape past the Templar's vigilance, then the blow would be struck regardless. It was perhaps the hardest part of the Templar's duty, knowing that the blood you spilled might well be an innocent. One of Cullen's Harrowings had ended that way. But he had done his duty then, though the nightmares had haunted him for weeks afterwards, he would have to do it now though he knew the blow would kill him too.

"I do what I must" Greagoir shook his head, squaring his shoulders as he sensed a challenge to his authority. Rarely did the First Enchanter, normally so wise to the compromises of the Tower, allow himself to be so openly at odds with his colleague. "As do we all, for the Maker's glory" He fixed the First Enchanter in a cold glare "You've allowed your sentiment for the child to blind you Irving" He accused, and Cullen felt the insult brush rather too close to his own doubts. "But we can't let down our vigilance. Favourite or not, she goes through the same test as any other, and if she fails it will be by the same token" Greagoir glanced at Cullen, and met his young student's gaze. Cullen was in awe of his mentor, and found the commander's involvement in his own training humbling. He'd always vowed to justify Greagoir's faith in him, but never had he felt that Greagoir's gaze was as hard and uncompromising as it was now. This was the face of the Templars, the face of necessity, and he was vowed to it. Lillian was nothing but a temptation to be overcome, that necessity demanded…if only he could force himself to believe that. "Cullen knows what he is doing" Greagoir said softly

"Yes, your apprentice holds a sword to the throat of mine" Irving's voice broke as he staggered away. "How terrible the mercy of the Templars…" Cullen felt sickened suddenly. The thought of his blade slicing across Lillian's beautiful, fragile neck was unbearable, when he knew he should be able to face it with regret, but unflinching resolve. That was what he'd trained for, why he'd come here, to protect people from what Lillian would become if he let down his guard over her for a second. This was the evil of…his maddening affection for her, how could he have let her undermine his vigilance so completely? How could it not be a sin? He held her tighter against him, so tight he knew that his armour would press against her flesh, and he prayed, as silence fell once again over the vast chamber, and they waited, waited for the doomed hour to pass.

"_This is such a strange place" Lillian remarked softly, as the mismatched pair of mages made their way down along the impossible causeway. The path was winding, and looping, somehow hooking around itself several times, and everywhere twisted structures, organic and artificial at once, accompanied their path, raking the sky with skeletal fingers. Colourless flowers bloomed from the stone, dry, drab and partly fossilised things that even the press of her foot didn't seem to bend or break. There was yet no sight of the demon, or sense of danger. But regardless Lillian had to keep herself constantly alert in case the creeping soporific influence of the Fade seeped too close. She felt strange sensations even now, things she couldn't quite escape or pin down no matter how intently she focused on the path ahead, whispers, touches…so soft they were like dreams, and barely real. She couldn't pin them down, she couldn't say what she thought she heard in the voices, or where exactly something she couldn't see brushed past her…but one above all remained keen in her mind. She felt like…she was watched, and whoever observed her had no dark intent, it was simply curious…_

_ "Don't be fooled" Mouse answered bitterly "There's nothing beautiful here" She glanced at him, curiously. He was scowling again, a bitter, sour scowl that didn't suit the youthful earnestness of his features. How long had he lingered here, she wondered, until time itself seemed to no longer matter? How easy it would be to simply give in as he had…she strangled that thought before it had any power, murmuring another prayer under her breath to focus herself on what was important. She was going to succeed in this test, the Maker would guide her. She felt the thrill of faith touch her a moment, she was closer to Him, now, here in the Fade, than she had ever been before. The only time she ever felt truly, completely safe was when she was alone with Him in the utter silence of her mind and the sublime touched her a moment across the veil. That was the only time she felt safe, except when she was with Cullen. The thought sprung upon her unawares when she was at her most open and it shook her so much that she lost all sense of the silent prayer in her head. Cullen…why Cullen now? She felt a stab of shockingly sweet pain down to her core as she remembered that Cullen was holding her even now, with his blade at her neck. And then she remembered Mouse's accusation, and she felt a stab deep down. She'd always known the grim side of the Templar's duty, and accepted it, but it was different facing it now, facing someone who'd been subjected to it, by her friend. "Are you alright?" Mouse murmured, there was something strange in his voice, or was it that everything in this strangest of worlds was made strange anew with the thought of Cullen and how deep it went?_

_ "Yes…I am" She shook her head, trying to clear it, and rubbed her arms, feeling satin that was more the dream of satin than anything else, especially as she had begun this test wearing only linen. Still something felt wrong, she still felt…like she was observed, like they both were under observation. Was that a glimmer of light dancing around at the edge of her vision, no it was gone. "Are…we really alone here?" She murmured. _

_ "Yes…" Mouse shrugged "Apart from your demon" He shot Lillian a considering glance, and his eyes were pinched and hard, more the eyes of a greedy rodent than a human. "I've seen it before now, you know" He muttered "It is contained just along this pathway, waiting for you…and he hungers most desperately, such a terrible wrath in him" Lillian shuddered, she would have been better spared that knowledge, and something was unsettling her about Mouse regardless. He seemed to be shifting with the Fade around them, one moment friendly, and the next curiously hard and flat. But his words were frightfully true, she forced herself to think again about the demon alone, and glanced down at her empty hands. If only she had some kind of weapon with her…just to help her fight the creature off, so she didn't have to rely on her magic alone. Her magic, she felt it coiling within her even now, a glow under her skin. Irving, Wynne, all the enchanters had coaxed her endlessly, lesson after lesson, use it, learn to wield it, their voices rose in her mind and she fought the only way she could. She thought of the hours she'd spent in the Chantry on her knees in her younger years, her teeth and fingers clenched, trying to resist it, but it always had its way. She'd resigned herself to it in the end, and gone obediently through every lesson, but she'd never allowed it to any further than what the enchanter asked, though she sensed sometimes, lying awake in bed with the stir of it in her soul, that it could go frighteningly far beyond anything they wanted. The worst thing was how much she'd come to enjoy learning its ways, a vice she couldn't rid herself of no matter how hard she tried. So she simply had set rigidly enforced boundaries upon her magic, and the thought of giving into it entirely, even now, in this grim test, was fearful. But…as she turned her head she heard something, another whisper fluttered past her ear, stronger than before, more insistent, but again so distant, so strange and so quiet that she couldn't quite decipher what it said, though it teased her on the edge of understanding. Somehow though…the merest sense of it lightened her burden just a little. Something was with her in this fearful place, she was sure of that, no matter how strange it sounded. And that was a small comfort…at least… _

"What makes her so different?" Greagoir accused coldly, once the silence had worn on for another cold and empty hour. Cullen blinked, shifting again, and even the slight movement had the delicate, unconscious Lillian falling against his shoulder. He gently gathered her up again and the hollow ache of her closeness was renewed all over again. He'd fought bitterly for hour after hour, and still her nearness was a constant trial. "You have always accepted our charge" Greagoir stepped from the shadows into the shifting moonlight, a cold and hard figure, he looked like he was carved from marble. For a reeling moment Cullen, still blurred by Lillian, wondered if Greagoir was actually addressing him, and the ground fell away as he imagined what would happen if his sin came to light. But it was Irving, in reality, whom Greagoir faced across the chamber. Cullen and Lillian were ignored. "You've accepted our work." The Knight-Commander continued and again Cullen remembered how every other Harrowing had been a nearly silent affair. "Why her? Why now?"

"I have compromised with your charge, your work" Irving answered, he was in the shadows, and the creeping darkness around him gave him a hollow intensity. "Because I had no choice, because it is what this position demands." He sighed "But perhaps I've seen too many deaths in this Chamber…"

"No Irving" Greagoir shook his head "She was already held back from this test far too long at your insistence. You insisted she had unique abilities that required nurturing, and we indulged you." Cullen's ears pricked up, he couldn't help it, though he knew curiosity beyond what the Order permitted him to know was discouraged. Lillian had 'unique abilities'…? "I am Knight-Commander Irving…" Greagoir pressed "I demand to know why"

"Because I have failed her" Irving answered "I still do not know what truly happened to her, but something in this Tower destroyed any chance she had. I fear…someone here has abused her…" He glanced at Lillian, lying back against Cullen, and his eyes glittered intently from the shadows. Cullen unconsciously crossed his arm closer around Lillian, shielding her from the old man's eyes, from what Irving seemed to be saying. Lillian…was safe, wasn't she? Cullen had watched over her so carefully. "This place is supposed to be safe. What can we offer them if we cannot even give them safety?" He murmured desolately.

"You knew the risks" Greagoir growled. "You chose this"

"I fear for her so…she has such a great power, no demon will be able to resist her" Irving looked away, but even his mumbling under his breath carried in the absolute silence. "But she's never allowed herself to unlock her potential. She's always been so hesitant, always doubting herself…the Chantry got to her too soon, too deep" Cullen tensed, did Irving even know who he was talking to? Somehow it didn't seem like he did. But Lillian, what was he raving about, there was nothing wrong with her, she was obedient, faithful, humble, everything a mage should be. If that didn't win the Harrowing…Cullen shuddered, and the sword pressed once again against Lillian's throat. If that didn't win the Harrowing, she would die the same as any other. Maker…he thought of the apprentice he'd had to kill, suddenly, devastatingly. She had been a young elf girl…barely as tall as Cullen's shoulder, blonde, pretty in a way that hadn't touched Cullen then, but which he remembered now with an ache of anguish. "We're supposed to protect them, these children" Irving mumbled emptily, and Cullen couldn't stop himself feeling sorry for him. "Child, Lillian…forgive me"

"She will live or she will die" Greagoir spread his hands, there was no hope in his voice, no grief, or sympathy either. "It is in the Maker's hands now" He was entirely detached from the human Lillian fighting so peacefully in Cullen's arms. Even Irving's sorrow didn't touch him. That was the way Templars were meant to be. Cullen breathed deeply, and felt Lillian's lovely hair brush over his neck…like she was meant to be here, in his arms. By the Maker…

"_We're here…" Mouse muttered at last, he'd been silent for much of the latter part of their ascent up the whirling pathway towards the arena where Lillian knew she would face her fate. All around them were half-formed things, stones carved with unsettling runes, structure leaning luridly into space, ornate pillars that supported nothing, and worst of all the unfinished statues all of which had a palpable air of wrongness about them. But the way onward was clear enough, the path led down towards a little hollow suspended in the void, enclosed by cliffs and as yet still invisible behind the last curve of the path. The demon was waiting there. She could almost taste its wrongness on the air, a bitter taste, acrid and acidic… "The creature waits below" Mouse glanced at her intently, the press of his gaze was almost something palpable on her cheek. "Are you ready?"_

"_I am" Lillian lowered her head, though truly she wasn't. Doubt plagued her, how could she stand against a demon with what small power she had? What if…it got in her head? What if it spoke with voices she knew? She had tried so hard, but what if she hadn't tried hard enough? What if she was still too sinful to resist it?_

"_Do not…doubt" Mouse murmured. "You have a great power, Lillian. I sensed that from the start. Already your presence has changed this place, has changed me" Lillian started, glancing at him with shock. What did he mean? "I begin to remember, Lillian…" Mouse's smile was hollow, but his words were insidious. "I begin to believe. I think…I shall fight with you when the battle comes, and I do not think it shall be as a mouse."_

"_You will?" Lillian clasped her hands, relief rushing through her. So much so that she ignored the palpable unease around Mouse now. At least…she wouldn't be alone._

"_Yes…" Mouse grinned. "I think you've given me a chance, Lillian. To help you…maybe even a chance for me" He reached forward, and took her hand in his. She started at his touch. His fingers were cool, dry…and yet…somewhat wrong. There was something wrong. "Shall we go in together?" He leaned in, and somehow his will pressed in on her. Something in her raged against her weakness, and against him, but once again she felt a dull compulsion to accept, to obey. Helplessly, she nodded…and with Mouse leading her, she walked into the testing place._

_The arena, the site of Lillian's true Harrowing, if nothing else here had in fact been a test as well as she was beginning to suspect it was, was a small bowl scooped from the floating cliffs. It was, if anything, more bare and lifeless than the rest of the Fade, the ground under her feet was a fine, glistening sand. There were fires too…fires that gave no smoke or heat…and she and Mouse passed through a wall of flame without harm, him leading her onward. It was also empty. And then, as she stepped in, something stirred at the centre of the arena, a fire lighting there from no fuel…rising from the ground, unfurling, burning. The sense of wrongness grew more intense, more acrid, more hateful, it reeled in Lillian's heart, sickening her to the core. And then…it rose from the ashes. She knew at once that this was her foe. It was a burning form, sketched in fire, its very skin seemed molten, shifting, changing, in the sluggish way of a liquid metal. Its form was not remotely human either; its body ran down into the floor, like some burning, impossibly large slug, formed only of amorphous lava. At the start it had no features to speak of, nothing was constant in the burning, shifting heat of its body, but its head was large and bulbous, and as the two mages stared at it, two baleful eyes, giving way to a white-hot core appeared there and appraised them. It had arms, also…dripping with flame, and wickedly sharp claws appeared at their end. It was a demon, a demon…of rage. _

"_So…you come at last, mageling" It had no mouth to speak of, but somehow a booming voice arose from it, teeming with a barely contained anger. "I have waited for a long while for you…why did you tarry so long?" She didn't answer, what answer could she give? She simply stared at it, in horror. "It is no matter, soon I shall see the world of the living with your eyes." The creature oozed with delight at the prospect. "You shall be mine, dear Lillian, body and soul." It sniffed the air, or at least made some motion comparable to that, and a loathsome, hoarse sound like an inhalation came from it. "But what a pitiful soul, though there are embers of wrath…perhaps enough to kindle" It turned its head sideways. "Imagine, dear Lillian, Petra, Kinnon, those brazen little fools who know nothing of sacrifice…" It growled, and Lillian shuddered at the reminder of those times when anger had come to her. Sweet Maker, this creature knew her. "All of them punished for their mockery, their secret laughter as you pass, their glamour, their brazenness." It leaned in, its voice might have been meant to be a seductive whisper of promise, but it could only manage a hoarse growl. She felt a sudden exhaustion, this temptation had no power over her…oh thank the Maker, she had little wrath anyway. She was too weak for it. "Imagine their fear…" The creature went on oblivious "Lillian, I can give you that" She shook her head mutely, and it blinked with surprise. _

"_Such a pitiful temptation, creature" Mouse laughed brazenly, as though it were him being tested. "Lillian has no wrath in her heart, her sins are otherwise. Come, now let us fight you and let this be done with"_

"_Mouse?" The demon hissed "But…our bargain…our arrangement" It flailed its arms with agitation, and with a rising anger. "You brought this one for me to feed on, like the others, did you not?" Lillian felt a stab of agony, oh Maker, no…Mouse had been a trap! Or had he? Something was wrong here, more wrong than even the betrayal…oh Maker…help her! _

"_Our arrangement is done with" Mouse grinned with a sickening triumph._

"_So the little mouse has a spine after all" The demon sneered "I will enjoy feasting on you as well"_

"_Not a mouse anymore" The mage raised his hands, and that light arose around him. His form shifted, changed, and grew, under that blinding light he collapsed, curling on to all fours, but still growing, growing until he dwarfed Lillian standing next to him. The demon hissed, seethed…and suddenly the light was gone, and beside Lillian there was a massive bear. It was huge, its fur brown and matted, its claws and its teeth vast and deadly sharp. But its eyes still glistened with Mouse's soul. Sweet Maker…what was this? "Don't you recognise your own work, Lillian?" The bear spoke, with Mouse's voice "You taught me to believe…and here I am to repay the favour by killing this pitiful little wretch" _

"_Enough! I will seize this mage's body by force then!" The demon roared, and in an instant, thrusting itself forward, it powered at Lillian with its deadly, burning claws extended. She flung herself from its path, landing in the sand in a heap. And then suddenly Mouse was in front of it, rearing up on all fours so he dwarfed even it, and flailing with his vast claws to strike it, hard. A glutinous, burning dollop of fire was torn from its face, landing inches from Lillian, smoking and flailing on the floor. The creature howled, all animalistic, all anger, and its burning face gave way to a seething, molten mass. It tried to strike back, and Mouse fell back to safety, his impossibly loud rumbling growl shaking the arena and Lillian alike. The two behemoths circled slowly…and then the rage demon struck, wicked-fast, its claws tearing into Mouse's face and leaving smoking, searing burns behind. Mouse howled and Lillian couldn't help but scream alongside him. Whatever else was going on, whatever else Mouse had done to survive here, she had to do something, this was her test. She leapt to her feet, extending her hand towards the fight. And she brought her magic to bear. A faint blue glow arose around her and as she concentrated harder, spectral, glimmering, smoky swathes of light travelled down her arm, circling, winding around it. This was magic of the Spirit School, the subtle, ephemeral school that trained to shape the very energy of the invisible forces of the Fade, that which she was most familiar with wielding, and here in the Fade, more powerful than ever before. And…the power thrilled and hummed inside her, and she welcomed it. "What…?" The demon roared, suddenly distracted, and fixing her in its beady gaze. "What…are you?" It sniffed again, loathsomely "How dare you conceal this power! I will tear it from you!" Mouse was completely ignored now, even as his jaw snapped forward and tore another strip of burning flesh from the creature's side. But when he tried to leap and tear the creature down, the demon slipped away with one smooth, squelching movement, and went for Lillian. She didn't flinch this time, this time she would stand and fight! _

_Spirit energy swept around her, enfolding her in an aurora of rippling blue and white light. And, embraced within its light, she felt the power inside the demon…the force that animated it, the burning, scorching fury at its heart. Attacking its body was so unsubtle, so futile in comparison…it was rage itself, it would simply renew itself and the battle would be a hard and brutal one. But what if…it could be attacked at the very core of its being? She sent a tendril of magic towards it, indifferent to its advance. Its body meant nothing, she realised, just like everything else in the Fade…its true self was simply the force of anger itself, and she could extinguish it. She knew what to do. Smiling as the demon raced towards her, hands outstretched, and then with a simple flick of her fingers, and an outpouring of magic that shuddered from her into the creature, she put out its rage. It grounded to a halt instantly, paused…and something in its burning features looked confused. Then the light arose within it, a cool, blue radiance searing through its suddenly crumbling features, sweeping, burning around it, flowering in great tides of brightness until it couldn't even be glimpsed in the midst of the paroxysm around it. And then it exploded. Lillian leapt back, stumbling, from the fall of fire and burning dollops of demon flesh, thankfully escaping unscathed by the blast. Gasping with sudden exhaustion, she fell back on her knees, stunned by what she'd just accomplished. How had she done it? Never had her magic seemed so easy, or so…powerful! And…she'd killed the demon…simply like that! Maker save her…this was what the First Enchanter had been trying to teach her all along, to manipulate the very essence of the spirit, mana, magic, life itself…the most subtle forces of all. Primal Magic which was so much more common, so much showier, than her own…it could never have accomplished anything like that. _

"_You did it!" Mouse loped towards her, transforming in mid stride into the gangly young man with staggering ease. He stopped just in front of her, beaming broadly. "I've seen so many apprentices try and fail…" He gabbled with excitement "Just shooting fire or ice at the damned thing…even the ones who win just do it by brute force, but you…you realised right away what the truth of the Fade is! You were born to walk this world Lillian!"_

"_Mouse…you…betrayed other apprentices" She stumbled back away from him, fear suddenly burning in her chest as the demon's brutal words ran through her mind over and over again. "You led them here, let him…eat them"_

"_They…were nothing, weak, unremarkable fools" Mouse sneered "But you, you're different Lillian." She must have looked utterly aghast, though she was almost too shocked to feel anything else, for Mouse amended his demeanour, looking insincerely regretful. She suddenly realised how false every emotion Mouse had shown was… "I mean…I did what I had to do, to survive here" He protested "They would have died anyway, none of them were strong enough." His green eyes suddenly burned with fervour "The Templars set them up to fail, just like they did with you" He crowed "But how could those fools ever realise what a true mage is, what you are Lillian!" Lillian felt sickened to the core…oh Maker, what monster had she uncovered? What was Mouse, really? "Listen, Lillian" Mouse crouched down in front of her. She couldn't pull back, though her mind screamed at her to escape him, she was too shocked, too appalled. "You can be so much more than you know, than you even dream. And there's hope in that, even for someone as small and as forgotten as me" She snatched her hand away when he tried to take it, but still he went on, leaning closer, his voice growing more and more strident. "I know you can help me! I can escape from here at last, with your help" He went on, the intensity in his features was inhuman, wrong…she sensed the wrongness crawling off of him. Oh Maker…Andraste help her… "Just…want to let me in, Lillian…" He murmured, softly, sibilantly, and at that moment she realised something she'd forgotten in the misty unreality of the Fade, something she'd let him make her forget…Divines protect her…_

"_I never…told you my name" She gasped out, the only thing she could say, and she felt like gagging on her utterly ungovernable fear, her stomach seethed, her heart pounded…sheer terror, she'd never felt anything like this. _

"_Oh, Lillian" Mouse shook his head, but he suddenly looked horrifyingly please, the glee on his face was greedy and cold. "You always were a smart one" He stood, stepping back away from her, and something in his face warped and shifted under Lillian's eyes. "Magic is mastery, Lillian" When he spoke again his voice was now a bass rumble, resonant, echoing, teeming with power and seething with temptation. This…was something far more powerful than the rage demon, something far more deadly, something…terrible. She realised that it must have deceived the rage demon, led the creature to think it was weak and servile, just as it had deceived countless apprentices before her, waiting for…what? "And you are a master" It boomed in its cold voice "No mage before you has ever been so favoured, so blessed, born of a noble line" Oh Maker, this one sought to tempt her too, and it knew her, it knew her secret pride…and it knew even of her family about which she knew nothing. A noble line, oh Maker, she'd give anything to know more. She caught herself, aghast…as the creature went on with a note of satisfaction, as though it could read her struggle " You are gifted in the rarest of magic, Spirit, Creation, alike…a healer and a bringer of power, a gift to those who are so desperately unworthy, who scorn your powers and your destiny. You are pupil of the First Enchanter, who could impart to you a thousand forbidden secrets of magic if you only asked, beloved of the Templar Cullen, who would throw aside his duty and set you free from the chains of the Templars if you only begged…" Oh Maker had she ever thought that? Had she ever thought to use Cullen that way? Or was it telling the truth, about Cullen, would he…did he care for her that much? She fell back, dizzied with horror. "You could do anything Lillian Amell." Mouse was no longer even recognisable, though his vaguely human shape still held, his face was a mask, through it shone through only an unholy gleam of a towering conceit, unimaginable power. "And I can help you…Lillian, with me you will be strong, never will you fear anything ever again. I can make you safe…" Maker…_

"_I can't…" She pleaded, pulling herself away on the floor from the fearful vision. Oh Maker, let the test end! She'd killed the demon, she'd done what was commanded of her, let it end! Let her out of here, please dear Maker…she couldn't bear this rape of her mind, her most treasured memories, thoughts, feelings all laid bear and presented as they must appear to this creature, a seething morass of pride and conceit. _

"_Embrace your destiny, Lillian, join with me…" It put out its hand, its fingers were outstretched greedily towards her, even as they shifted and gave way at the edges, huge, wicked claws piercing through the facade. "Do not fear the Templars, together we will be unstoppable. We will kill Cullen before he draws the blade across your neck…"_

"_No!" Lillian screamed suddenly, freed of the deadly spell of the creature's voice and its terrible temptation. Cullen, not Cullen…she'd die first! _

"_No?" It breathed, hoarsely "No…you refuse me?" It cocked its head, looked at her sideways. "You dare refuse me?" It stormed, and suddenly Lillian knew what pride really was, empty, envious…endlessly thirsting for power, eternally unsatisfied. Even if this creature slew her here…and she could see no way of standing against it, she sensed the power running through it like a great font and knew she had no choice, at least she'd made the right choice. She'd go to the Maker…Cullen could be proud of her. "You pathetic little worm" The demon sneered, and suddenly the faint, weak humanity it still possessed gave way, and that evil light surrounded it, and it grew, grew vast…until it towered above her, a shape traced in a cold glow at which she couldn't bear to look any closer. "Look at you, a slave of the Templars, clinging to the name of your Maker as if that means anything, as if there is anything watching over you snivelling little wretches! You've wasted your power, squandered every opportunity you possibly had…" It reached down towards her, vast claws springing from its hand "Count yourself lucky that I am deigning to seize your body by force…at least then you'll be a tool for something greater than your own futile existence" _

_At that moment Lillian knew she was about to die, but at least she would die without giving in. It would have her body, but it would not have her soul. But then something fluttered into life between her and the loathsome creature towering above her. At first there was a glow, a slight, almost invisible pinprick of light that steadily grew larger and more powerful…it was so different to the evil, smoggy glow around the Demon of Pride, it was hale and pure instead. Lillian fell back, the Demon paused, withdrawing its hand cautiously, its evil, glowing eyes fixed intently on the being traced in light that grew…took shape…until there was something…that appeared vaguely like the form of a human, but the light around it was so bright that she could barely see through it to anything more. And it stood there, a figure in light, and it stood between her and her captor. Lillian stared up at it, and somehow she felt a palpable sense of relief rush through her, healing, gentleness…radiated from the mere sight of this strange, unknown being. "She is mine by right!" The Pride Demon hissed "How dare you intervene!" A hum began around the glowing figure, a hum that was like the strumming of a resonant harp, no…an impossibly sweet voice…no…the gentle rush of the waters of Lake Calenhad…somehow the sound rippled with every pleasant thing Lillian had ever heard, and yet gave only one achingly pure note. Somehow she knew that this being had been with her from the very beginning, had drawn near to whisper warnings to her, had brushed past her on her way, had tried to ward her away from Mouse from the start. The Pride Demon was hissing now, it flailed its vast, brutish arms but it didn't seem able to get through, and there were lights gathering around it, wisps of light that surrounded and enveloped it. It gave a roar of rage. "I'll rip you from this world, upstart!" It screamed._

"_Go Lillian" Suddenly there was a voice in her head, a voice neither male nor female, neither old nor young, but unspeakably beautiful. And it vibrated with urgency. Lillian flailed, landing back in the sand with a cry. Maker, she didn't know how…! "Feel your way home, Lillian" The voice commanded, ringing in the vaults of her mind. "Feel your way back to the boy who holds you" Cullen…Cullen was holding her…she pressed down on her aching head and thought of Cullen…he flashed through her head, bright and brave and wonderful, and then there was light all around her, and the howling of the Pride Demon gave way to only the hum of the being who stood before her in the light that was somehow all around her. A laugh, a pure, beautiful, radiant laugh of joy sounded in her head, she felt a touch like a mother's kiss upon her forehead…then all was light, and her mind swam in light and abandoned itself to it. It was done...oh thank the Maker...it was over..._


	4. Chapter 4: Resignation

_Sorry for the long wait! I've been really busy, but I have at last managed this! I hope all enjoy this chapter, again rather long but it has a number of very interesting things go on so read carefully!_

_Also thank you to RM Quinn for your fantastic reviews and your encouraging message when I needed it. And to all who've put me on alerts and favourites in this time, and to all my readers of course._

_Anyway, please, read on:_

* * *

Cool morning sunlight glowed faint as a murmur upon her face, the slightest warmth stroked her cheek gently as the shadows and light played through high glass windows and silken curtains she knew were there even with her eyes closed and her head resting upon her own soft yielding cushion. The silken whisper of her bed-sheets brushed across her skin as she shifted slowly, and the faint, familiar smell of perfume and candle-wax floated in her nostrils and she took it in, a smile unconsciously lightening upon her lips. Enveloped in the startlingly heady flush from sleep into waking she basked a moment, her mind calm and still as the air about her…and then, as suddenly as a strike of lightning from the blue, she remembered. Eyes snapped open, and she flung herself instantly into a sitting position on the bed, her fingers desperately grasping at the sleeves of the thick gown she'd been wearing last night in the library and which she still wore now as though they simply couldn't believe it was real. Maker…she was here…back here, in the most familiar place of all, where she'd woken every morning of her life, and nothing was the same, nothing could ever be the same. She dug her hands into thick linen, trying desperately to find some calm, to ease the shudder running desperately through her shoulders as the whole horror flashed through her mind again. The Harrowing, the demon, the Fade…Mouse…horror after horror, she'd thought she would die there in that lonely, colourless expanse. After the Fade everything even in this most familiar of places felt suddenly so garishly intense, down to the feeling of air in her lungs as she breathed out headily, holding close to the feeling of physicality, of reality, as though it were some kind of shield from the memory of the Fade's dead emptiness. That memory…even as she shed her blankets from her shoulders, she felt the thought of the Fade heavy like a clasp of ice upon her back.

She knew well she should feel triumphant…she'd been Harrowed, she'd survived the testing, now, after all these years, she would be a true mage like she was supposed to be, but she there was nothing but a hollow ache in her chest. What had happened out there? She struggled to understand how she had ended up faced by something as wicked and powerful as that monster which had called itself Mouse. It must have been some kind of mistake, a subterfuge, a deception on the part of the Demon…there was no way they Templars could have intended such a thing, could they? She gasped at the blasphemy of the thought, and felt sickened, remembering the horrors that Mouse had told her in the Fade. All of it had to be lies, it simply had to be, but she couldn't shake her unease. No apprentice could have triumphed there, it was impossible, and yet here she sat: alive, free, her test was done. Something…someone…had saved her.

"Lillian" That voice…that name…she struggled through the shadow of terror, and finally found her blurred vision focusing upon the Apprentice Dormitory in which she'd slept for almost three years now. High, impossibly high ceilings, vaulted with splendid arches that swept gracefully upwards with the elegance of a dream. The walls were bare stone, neat cut blocks with the functionalism of a fortress, but since the Tower had become a home rather than a castle they'd been graced with a sweeping ornamental filigree, spirals in the stone that swept into vast, organic shapes, so complex and beautiful that the unprepared mind, dulled by sleep, could be lost within them for an instant. The windows were vast, and high, arched and nimble, but only at their very crown were they open to the sunlight that streamed into the room in a watery, glistening tide. The rest had been blocked with stone, something even the lovely carvings etched into the surface couldn't disguise…this was, after all, a prison. "Lillian, are you alright?" She blinked, suddenly remembering why she'd woken and turning her head from such thoughts, to see Jowan standing by her bed. If she was honest he wasn't truly surprised to see him in the girl's dormitory, who knew with whom he had spent last night especially after what had happened, but she was shocked to see him quite so…wearied, quite so slovenly. His normally fastidious robe was creased, and spotted with some stain of something across the hem, his hair was a mess, bristly and uneven, and his features were sallow, his eyes bloodshot. He smelt too, of sweat maybe. Had he too been up all night, Lillian wondered with shock, then her eyes narrowed…had he been drinking? "Lillian, say something, damn it" He snapped, and she was shocked by the sudden open anger in his voice…what did he want? Why was he here?

"Jowan…" She said quietly, at last. Shocking too, was how little she feared the sight of him. He didn't look fearful at all like this, or was it what she had faced had changed her? She couldn't tell… "I'm alright" She added hastily, remembering what he'd asked. She was so distracted, her thoughts drifted like falling leaves.

"Andraste's arse, you were gone all night" He sighed, but as Lillian blanched at the blasphemy, he didn't even notice. He wasn't looking at her, not really, even as he collapsed down on the bed beside her, he was about as unfocused as she was. He didn't even notice when she subtly shifted as far from him as the narrow bunk would allow. "I didn't know it took all night…bloody hell" He breathed, then finally he looked at her. "You know, Lillian, I knew the instant that bastard of a Templar arrived, what he wanted, what they wanted" He swallowed hoarsely "You…survived it, then?" Lillian nodded weakly, feeling deeply uncomfortable. Jowan was drunk…he never got drunk. "Lillian" He leaned in, and she froze, brittle with her embarrassment. "What was it like?" He licked his lips suddenly, as though tasting his longing. "Tell me…" Ah, the rush of understanding was a dull ache. Why was she even disappointed? He wanted to know about the Harrowing…that was all.

"I can't tell you" She murmured softly "You know it's forbidden" They all did, and now she understood why. She was bound to the Templars…their secrets were now her own.

"Forbidden?" Jowan fixed her in a bleary-eyed gaze, a mere shadow of the cool basilisk glare that normally could pin her to his every whim. "Lillian, don't be like that"

"Jowan I just can't…" She sighed, turning away, and brushing her hair from her face…it was for the best, it was as the Templars decreed, even if Jowan didn't understand that, she did.

"Because you're a mage now, and I'm nothing but a lowly apprentice who still hasn't been called up, right?" Jowan sneered, suddenly sober, and Lillian glanced back at him instantly, shocked by the sudden reminder. Of course, she was a mage now…yes…she was a mage. She stared at her long-time tormentor, her only friend, her lover, in shock for a long while, wondering at what that meant for her, for him. She would be gone from here tonight, away from the whispered taunts of the other girls and her secret envy of their effortless ease and beauty, away from the constant crowds that pressed and watched and tempted, and away from him, from Jowan. The upper corridors were forbidden to apprentices at night…he would not be able to come to her anymore, when the darkness pressed in on her, and her fear of sleep, and the demons that she knew lurked in her dreams was so intense that a part of her lay back and craved his touch, if only to obliterate her constant nightmares in the mingled shame and sickening pleasure. "You sound just like Irving Lillian" Jowan snapped. Lillian wondered if he was thinking the same as she was. "He's always held me back"

"Irving knows best" Lillian breathed softly, that she was one thing of which she was certain, and no Harrowing, no matter what she had witnessed and fought there could shake her faith in her mentor. He had the interests of the mages of the Tower engraved into his very core. She knew that was why he sometimes even went against the Templars, silently, secretly, subtly…of course, but still he did. It had to be a sin, but sometimes when she caught the end of a meeting with another enchanter and heard Irving's rough voice devising politics so subtle and so brilliant that she could barely understand, she wondered what she was missing. "It will be your turn soon Jowan" She promised at last, because there was nothing else to say. "Irving's just waiting until you're ready"

"I've been ready for a long time, Lillian" Jowan stood abruptly, and a mask of cool reserve settled over him again. "More than ready. If Irving doesn't see that…he's as much of a fool as the Knight-Commander, and I'll just have to show them all otherwise" Lillian gazed at him with alarm, and opened her mouth to ask him what exactly he meant.

"Lillian!" The squeal of joy and shock surprised them both. Lillian almost tumbled from her perch, and even Jowan blinked, as a flashing tumble of mauve and golden silk swept past them, in desperate eagerness, and reached the bedside in a flash. Two eager hands grasped at the pillars as though they wanted to grab up the shrinking Lillian in a furious embrace, and a bright, brilliant smile flashed before her. Petra…? "By the Maker, Lillian…" The girl, a fellow apprentice, gasped out breathlessly, as Jowan withdrew slowly towards the shadows, distant disgust passing over his cool features. "You're awake, you're alright?" Petra peered at her under fluttering lids, as though unsure of that fact.

"Yes…" Lillian managed to stammer outward, alarmed by the sudden exuberance of her fellow apprentice. Petra had always been one of the kindest apprentices here but that didn't mean she spoke more than a few words to Lillian on the average week. Few, apart from Jowan, ever did. Lillian was almost invisible, quite unlike Petra. With her red-gold hair neatly tied back and her graceful features, the other apprentice was a stunning ornament to the Tower and spent nearly all her time in a flurry of silks and excitement that Lillian could only watch from the side-lines, baffled and yet longing still.

"Oh thank the Maker" Petra breathed "We all knew when you didn't come back last night. Everyone was praying for you, Lillian" Lillian blinked, but she couldn't deny the glow that began in her heart…someone had noticed, at least.

"Well, some of us at least" Another apprentice, Kinnon slipped out from behind his almost constant companion with his usual sardonic smile. No one seemed to bother that the slim, acerbic Kinnon spent much of his time in the girl's dormitories either, but after some time trying to puzzle it out, even otherworldly Lillian had realised that he wasn't interested in girls at all. "But looks like it worked" He shrugged, as though in spite of himself. But still he looked pleased…for Lillian?

"Cullen brought you back at dawn" Petra confided "Looking half-dead in his arms." Lillian blinked, feeling a sudden rush of feeling she could barely keep from her face, as she imagined herself draped across the Templar's arms. He must have carried her all the way down from the Harrowing Chamber…he was strong enough to do it, she knew. Her arms tingled at the thought but she grasped suddenly at the sheets, clamping down on her sinful thoughts, and praying desperately that Petra and Kinnon wouldn't notice her discomfort. "He said…you deserved rest …" Petra added, with a kindly smile, utterly unaware of the effect her words were having on Lillian. "He said you were very brave"

"Well of course he did…" Kinnon smirked suddenly, but when Petra shot him a furious glance, he fell silent and had the grace to blush. Lillian foundered, what did Kinnon mean?

"I know when it comes to my own Harrowing I'll be scared stiff" Petra leaned in, with a bright smile. "But I'm nothing like as gifted as you are, well done Lillian"

"Thank you" Lillian breathed, a bubble of happiness rising from inside her despite herself. It was so nice to be noticed for once.

"So Petra" Jowan suddenly stepped forward, from the shadows, a spectre in his iridescent blue robes. "What is it you want this time? Favours from the Senior Enchanter, advice on the Harrowing, forbidden materials…Lillian can get it all for you and more, now she's a full mage at last" Lillian blanched, and Petra went white.

"Shut up Jowan" Kinnon snapped, with open disgust. "We just wanted to say congratulations, that's all"

"Can't you just leave us all alone?" Petra seized Lillian's shoulders in her two thin, graceful hands, as though to draw her to a protective embrace "Lillian's been through enough without you hovering like a vulture over her the whole time." Jowan's eyes narrowed at the girl. Lillian shifted with surprise…she'd always assumed that everyone was as charmed by Jowan's cool magnetism as his devoted admirers. If ever she saw him, and he wasn't alone, he was with that cadre of his, Uldred's favourites, those rebellious thugs, and the beautiful, brazen girls, all of them together committed to malice, disrupting classes, tormenting the weaker mages, and to vice, those secret gatherings in dark places that you heard whispers of sometimes. Well…and to even darker things, too, if Lillian's keen suspicion was anything to go by. She'd just assumed that they were the popular ones, the ones everyone wanted to be, but it seemed others found their antics as distasteful as she did. She'd never have known.

"I'll leave you to it then" Jowan nodded his head mockingly. He seized Lillian's hand before she could withdraw it, and bent to kiss it, his arid grey eyes fixed upon her, pinning her to silence. It was a courtly gesture that dripped with contempt, as if to say I own you, no matter what you are, mage or apprentice. His lips were dry, like the scales of a lizard, and Lillian's skin crawled with revulsion. She knew Petra and Kinnon were watching, and knew what they were thinking, what Jowan wanted them to think, and was relishing that brute fact…but she couldn't let go. "One more thing Lillian, Irving asked me to tell you that you're wanted in his study" He added suddenly, as he raised himself and stepped back in a shifting whisper of silk. Lillian felt a rush of helpless frustration; he'd kept that from her this whole time, playing her like a puppet. "No doubt he wishes to congratulate you upon your elevation as well…" Then he turned his back upon them, and was gone.

"Why do you put up with him, Lillian?" Kinnon leant on the bedpost, glaring at the door through which Jowan had disappeared. "He's such a creep…"

"Quiet, Kinnon" Petra hushed him, and Lillian shuddered, thinking that Petra must suspect the truth. There was no such thing as privacy in the Tower. What must Petra think of her? But the other girl's smile was kind, and it still didn't waver. "Better not keep Irving waiting" She said "But if you need any help, you know, with moving everything up to the Mage's floor, we'll be happy to help." She paused, and beamed encouragingly "It…won't be the same down here without you, Lillian" Lillian shifted uncomfortably, of course it would, for Petra and for everyone else. She might be the novelty now, having just graduated to full mage, but how long would it take for Petra to remember she was still the same Lillian, painfully shy, awkward, unfashionably obedient, dull, who she and Kinnon had simply ignored every other day?

"I'd better go and get dressed to see him, then" Lillian stood awkwardly "Thank you though…" She remembered to say abruptly, drawing her robes around her like a shield, a carapace. She read it in their faces, the frown touching Kinnon's smooth and handsome face, Petra's blank smile: what's the matter with her, why is she so strange, why doesn't she understand what everyone else does? Lillian rubbed her sleeves, biting her lip…she had her own questions, where were you all this time? If you care now, when it's far too late, why didn't you step in sooner and tell me I wasn't alone? Before she said anything, though, she turned herself around, and walked quickly to the privacy of the wardrobes, before the whispering began, before she heard the murmurs that followed in her footsteps, the stares, the pointed fingers. Now she'd passed the Harrowing, no doubt there would be others curious, others congratulatory. But there was only one person she wanted to celebrate it with, only one who had been with her through the worst times and only one who she now wanted to share the happiness of her passing the Harrowing with…only one…Cullen…

Oooo00000ooooo

Cullen was utterly exhausted. The duty of the Templar necessitated long, almost completely uneventful vigils, watching over the mundane activities of their charges each and every identical day in the Tower, every ordinary routine observed with the same, unshakeable vigilance, every minute detail contemplated in the same crystalline clarity. Constantly alert, constantly on guard, that was their way. Some found that easier than others, many a time discussion in the Templar Quarters had turned to ways to stop the blade of your vigilance dulling over the long hours. The older Templars recommended prayer, one or two had memorized nearly the entire Chant of Light and apparently went over the entirety of the vast scripture in their heads when on duty over a few days. Cullen's friends preferred, amongst other things, thinking up riddles and wordplay, scandalous verses from flippant Orlesian bards, or increasingly complex games of I-spy to somehow play with yourself. Ser Carroll had even claimed unfailing vigilance through a system of carefully rating the female mages, but Cullen hoped his disapproval had convinced his friend of the error of that serious lapse in judgement. Cullen found it easier than some, though, contemplation had always been easy for him, he could think back over the scrolls he read during his breaks: military strategy mainly, and lately the testimonies of former Templars who'd encountered the darkest aspects of magic. He could think over what he'd read, how the heroes of the past glorified the Maker, what he would have done in the same situations, while he watched the mages passing by with a suspicion kept keen by their example. But today, after…last night, he couldn't concentrate as he normally did. He'd barely slept, normally after a Harrowing there was time for a snatched couple of hours before duties began again in the morning, but Cullen had lain awake in his bed that whole time, haunted by the echo of Lillian's body in his arms, and by the strangeness of what he'd seen…and the horror of what he'd almost done. Greagoir had assigned him to one of the easiest posts, a corridor on the Enchanter's floor near the First Enchanter's Office, but he wouldn't have used that as an excuse for any kind of lapse if his head wasn't so blurred and his judgement so confused. Under his weary gaze the flurry of busy mages passing by blurred into one, and in every unguarded moment his thoughts strayed back to last night, and what had happened in the Harrowing Chamber.

Something had been wrong from the beginning, he should have known it: the First Enchanter arguing with the Knight-Commander, Lillian taking so long under the spell of the lyrium, Cullen's own weakness and his struggle. And then…it had happened. He still shuddered to think of it, and nothing of the wise words of the Templars who had come before could even begin to explain it. It had begun an hour before dawn, when Cullen had grown increasingly conscious that every second brought the moment when he would be ordered to fulfil his charge closer. And then, suddenly, without warning, Lillian had moved in his arms. He'd felt his heart leap in a way that staggered him now as he thought back. What disturbed him more though was how much he could recall the moment with exact clarity, the feeling of Lillian brushing up against his armour, her head rising slowly, deliberately from its limp slumber on her shoulder. He'd opened his mouth to announce the welcome news, then he'd seen something, something that stopped him in his tracks. Lillian still looked fast asleep, still in her trance, pale as ice, the flush of her lips deep black against the whiteness of her skin in the darkness, her hair like a raven's wings. But there was a light under her skin, a pale, white, diffused glow that arose like a corona from within her. He'd let her fall away from him in astonishment, one gauntleted hand holding her an arm's length away from him as he stared into those most familiar of features and saw the light burn within them. And as Greagoir and Irving had advanced slowly, astonished to silence, Lillian's hair had risen in a cloud of dark strands like static, and the light had begun behind her closed eyelids, flickering, fluttering light that seemed to move with her eyes. Cullen had been aghast, possession had come to his mind first, of course, but he'd read dozens of accounts of demonic influence, and none had ever been anything like this. Greagoir and Irving's reaction of shock had only confirmed it. And there was something gentle, something…he hesitated to say it now but it was he'd first thought, something holy about the light. And Lillian smiled, with a wonderful freedom, with a sudden pure and radiant happiness that he'd never seen before on her usually solemn, closed features. He'd never realised how haunted, how sad, Lillian usually looked until he'd seen her then. And he had stared at her in wonderment, he'd always known she was beautiful, but he'd never realised just how much until she stood glowing, with her hair about her. His sword fell to his side.

"Cullen, kill her" Greagoir's order had stopped everything, and he knew exactly what his superior was thinking; no matter what this was, this was no time to take chances. And Cullen knew, down to his core, what he was meant to do now. But his muscles, let alone his stunned mind, would not obey him. The sword seemed impossibly heavy, he was mesmerised by the glowing Lillian.

"No!" Irving's voice had never been so strident, so commanding, so formidable. Cullen knew he should already have obeyed the direct command of his Knight-Commander. Obedience was his duty. No matter what the First Enchanter said, he was supposed to do the will of the Commander without thinking, but he was paralysed. "Listen to me Greagoir, this is no demon…she is fine, let it be" Greagoir frowned, stepping back, but the order he'd given Cullen still hung heavy in the air, he hadn't rescinded it. Lillian should already by dead. And all of them knew it. Instead she was glowing before Cullen, and then all of a sudden she sagged, and fell back over Cullen's arms, and her hair cascaded back down against her cheeks. The light drew back into her and in an instant it was gone. It was over, and Lillian's eyes fluttered a little, she shifted against him, and he knew instantly that now this was her, alone, no power behind her. She was not possessed.

"Cullen…" His name escaped her lips, so quiet only he could have heard it, then she was lapsed back into unconscious, a hale, healing sleep, not the unearthly trance of the lyrium. The Harrowing was over. She had passed. She was herself again.

Neither Irving, nor Greagoir, had said another word, except the Knight-Commander had gruffly ordered Lillian returned to her rooms, and admonished Cullen firmly not to speak of what he'd seen to anyone, and especially not to Lillian herself. He'd looked into his Commander's eyes, and seen the guardedness there. Whatever they'd briefly witnessed, and Cullen knew enough about magic only to know that there were mysteries they'd never understand, it had not been possession. But none of that should have mattered to a Templar. Even if he had known for certain that Lillian was not possessed, he should have still cut her down. Greagoir had ordered him. A Templar obeyed his superior instantly and without question, no matter the circumstances. If he did not believe, if he had doubts, it he questioned, even for an instant, an abomination would surely arise under his watch. Cullen's insubordination was enough of an excuse for Greagoir to have him stripped from the order, and rightly so. And that was even before he began to think about what he'd seen from Lillian. Irving seemed to know, or have some suspicion. No doubt he'd already shared it with the Knight-Commander, and since Lillian had not been Tranquilled it seemed the explanation was satisfactory.

"Cullen!" And then he heard her voice, and all he could think of was the creatures of the Fade that were summoned to the pyre of desire in the heart of a man, tempting, teasing them. He turned, and saw her hurrying down the corridor. She was wearing white again, a somewhat more formal robe than usual, her long dark hair pinned up, and he knew immediately that she was on her way to seeing the First Enchanter. She looked…harried. He immediately thought of the long journey down from the Harrowing Chamber, he'd carried her to her room, and through the whole of the long, slow, silent journey down through the sleeping Tower. It had been unsettling…how easy it had been, how right it had felt, how his life had seemed to contract around him until all it contained was this young, thin, fragile body in his arms. He forgot the strange things he'd witnessed, what Lillian had just endured, and he'd left behind the hum of desire that had possessed him those long hours. Then it had just been her, quiet and asleep, dependent on him to protect her, to carry her to safety. She had been so light but when he had laid her down again in her bed his arms had ached with a tangible emptiness. Seeing her gliding towards him now down the corridor, awake and alert once again, a full mage of the Circle now, he felt that emptiness again "Cullen, oh Cullen…I did it!" She smiled joyfully, reaching him with a spring of happiness. She came to a halt in front of him, beaming, and he nodded slowly, shifting on his feet. He was uncomfortably aware that the situation, or her, demanded something more of him…the compulsion arose to congratulate her in some way more suited to her achievement, to what she deserved, but a touch was the most forbidden thing of all, an embrace utterly inconceivable, not after what he'd learned about himself last night.

"Lillian…" He began awkwardly, unable to bear the silence a second longer. "I'm glad…it all went smoothly last night" Silently he cursed his inarticulacy, knowing he should be firm and distant, the Templar, not the man.

"I'm a mage now, Cullen" She beamed, twirling her hand dreamily in the folds of her robe. "Isn't that wonderful?"

"Yes, it is…wonderful" He stammered "You deserve it Lillian, you've worked so hard…" He paused, swallowed, tried again as she glanced at him expectantly. Maker curse him, why was this so hard? He never did this with any other mage, he never made such a fool of himself. "I…wanted to say…well done. The Harrowing is a very great test" She paled, her smile gone in an instant, and he cursed himself again. You didn't speak about the Harrowing, not again, going through it once had to be bad enough.

"Yes" She breathed, and a shudder touched her shoulders as though she were suddenly hearing a whisper of the Fade. "Cullen…I saw such things, heard such things…" Her gaze, still upon his face, suddenly went distant, she was looking through him, and she saw something terrible. "It was…awful" Cullen swallowed again, he would never see the Fade with waking eyes, thank the Maker, but this was Lillian's curse. Whatever he'd seen in there, whatever she had been forced to endure, it was His will. He had to remind himself of that.

"We obey the will of the Chantry, and of the Maker" He said softly, at least that was easy enough to say. It was what duty commanded, the mandate of the Templar.

"Yes, of course" Lillian blinked, straightening her sleeves nervously. "Thank you…for being there last night" She continued, quietly "I'm so glad it was you…"

"So am I" He answered, before he could stop himself, and she smiled sweetly.

"I don't know what to begin with" She said "Now I'm a mage, I mean. There's so much…research, new books, new materials…and it's all open now." Cullen listened leniently, as he always did when she went off about magic, things he didn't want to understand. But then a shadow passed over her face "But I did think I should start with Thaumaturgy"

"Spirit Magic?" Cullen glanced at her sideways. You picked up some things, standing in on the lessons the enchanters gave to their apprentices. Cullen had even been there for a few of Lillian's classes with the First Enchanter. He didn't have much inclination to understand magic as the mages did, and, truth be told, when Lillian came alive under Irving's tutelage sometimes the pair of them soared to levels of discussion that he couldn't even begin to understand. But he knew this, that Spirit Magic was one of the most dangerous schools, the most suspicious. Manipulating the very substance of magic itself, why would you want that? Magic wasn't meant to be understood, it was meant to be harnessed, yoked to the Maker's will. But he said none of it out loud, not to her.

"Yes" She nodded "The Fade, there was something there, something I need to understand" Cullen frowned, if they had come from anyone else, those words would have been a sign, a warning to the trained Templar in him. He would have taken them to the Knight-Commander immediately, reported the offender's name, and they would be isolated and watched more closely. Mostly nothing came of it, mostly…

"Do not toy with the Fade" But it was Lillian, and so he simply warned her instead and knew he would do nothing. He was helpless. "It's too dangerous"

"I do believe" Lillian said quietly, looking up modestly from the slender arms folded across her chest. "I know that better than you do" Cullen was silenced. He was right, the Fade had changed her. "The First-Enchanter called for me" She said at last "I suppose I'd better go to him"

"Wait, I will walk you there" Cullen offered, not sure if he was doing this because it was his duty to try to find out more about what Lillian's intentions were, and what she had experienced in the Fade, or whether he just couldn't let her go. Templars could leave their posts at their discretion, it just was not encouraged.

"If you like" She smiled, clearly pleased, and Cullen thought, too late, of what might occur if they were seen. A Templar escorting a mage alone would be unusual, but not unprecedented. There were any number of reasons and yet he couldn't help but think how obvious it must be to all that they passed that he was following Lillian and not the other way round. He just wanted to protect her, his vows…he wouldn't break his vows, he would never. But his protests were so very hollow. He was living in sin, Maker forgive him, and after the Harrowing, it was so clear now. But he didn't know what to do.

"What does the First Enchanter want anyway?" He asked uncomfortably, to fill the silence that fell over them as they left his post, that might have been companionable but seemed now to be conspiratorial.

"I'm not actually sure what he wants" Lillian spoke humbly enough, but it did matter to her, Cullen knew. She had always wanted to make Irving proud of her. And he already was, there was already so much to be proud of, but of course Lillian didn't see that. "A private audience in his study…?" She paused briefly "Perhaps he wants to give me another lesson?" Or perhaps more likely, he too wished to uncover fully what had occurred during the Harrowing, Cullen thought. The First Enchanter wasn't afraid to use his students if he had to, there were compromises of which Lillian knew nothing, back-room deals that kept the Tower functioning. Cullen sometimes wondered why the Templars allowed things to stay that way, the Tower could be so much purer if they oversaw it more directly. Why let there be any chance, when the consequences of laxity could be so dire?

"Well, I suppose it will become clear" Cullen added neutrally, at last. They rounded the next corner together, and the passageway curved towards the familiar door that led into the First Enchanter's office. The tower was, of course, richer here, with the gilded crimson tapestries on the walls and some delicate ornaments, old useless Tevinter things excavated for the most part, on display on pedestals lining the corridor, all a show for the mages. Cullen opened his mouth to bid farewell to Lillian, deciding it was judicious to leave her before Irving saw them together. He wasn't sure what the First Enchanter would do, but Irving always saw more than it seemed. But then he paused, suddenly hearing the Knight-Commander's voice from the office…

"Many have already gone to Ostagar" Greagoir was saying, and Cullen who was attuned to his superior's tones knew instantly that he was deeply frustrated, and more so than he was letting on. They were discussing the war. As if by an unspoken signal between them, both he and Lillian paused at the doorway, just where they could hear. They shared an interest, clearly in the war. "Wynne, Uldred…and many of the senior mages" Greagoir continued, and Cullen wondered that he seemed so annoyed. Irving rarely provoked him, and when he did the matter could easily be settled by application of the authority of the Knight-Commander. "We've committed enough of our own to the war effort"

"Your own?" Irving snorted, and Cullen wondered at his boldness. Something was going on here, there was some other force at work. "Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages?" The First-Enchanter asked "Or are you simply afraid to let us beyond Chantry supervision, where we may actually use our Maker-given powers?" Lillian drew breath, short and sharp, and Cullen shared her astonishment. An accusation of that boldness…it was inconceivable insolence.

"How dare you suggest…?" Greagoir growled like an old lion.

"Gentlemen, please" And then a third voice joined them, someone Cullen had never heard before. The voice was quiet, rough, but commanding, it had strong authority and quiet, but absolute, confidence. The hint of a foreign accent, buried deep, and the throaty richness of a man getting into middle age…a guest? "Irving, I do believe you have guests." The man continued "There are two people waiting just outside the door" Cullen and Lillian both reared back in shock, how in the Maker's name had he known?

"Do come in" Irving murmured from within, and Lillian shot Cullen a brief, guilty glance, a flush rising in her pale cheeks. In that moment, when their eyes met for a brief instant, he knew he would walk in there with her, even though the Knight-Commander would see them together, and he could possibly have escaped, which would no doubt mean less trouble for them both. But he wouldn't, he would walk in with her…

"Ah…our newest sister in the Circle" Irving beamed the moment they entered, a world away suddenly from the withered, desolate man who had stood beside Lillian during the Harrowing, sincere affection glinting in his eyes. "Lillian, welcome"

"And Cullen…" Greagoir added coldly, there was no hint of what he thought of the scene beneath his now suddenly glacial exterior. "What are you doing here, boy?"

"Lillian wanted some advice, Knight-Commander" Cullen bowed his head respectfully to his superior, even as the half-truth stung his tongue. He didn't know what else to say, and he tried to tell himself it was for Lillian, in situation like this the mage was almost always held responsible. "On the restrictions she's under now as a mage…I offered to walk her here to discuss it"

"I see" Greagoir answered impassively, but he fell silent then and Cullen realised that no one else in the room was paying attention to them. Instead Lillian and the First Enchanter both seemed to have shifted their attention to a single axis, to the line that ran between Lillian's dark and troubled blue eyes and the darker still, almost black, but stoic and hard as rock gaze of the stranger in the room. Cullen had never seen him before, had never seen anyone remotely like him. But he felt his shoulders tighten automatically as Lillian stood, as though unable to look away, beneath that gaze, a gaze weighted with significance, considering, assessing. Even here he could feel the force of it, imbued with a purpose that was solemn and uncompromising, a purpose that somehow, Cullen knew with every protective instinct in his body, involved Lillian.

"This is…?" The stranger said softly, in that craggy voice of his. Cullen's first instinct had been correct, he didn't look Ferelden at all: swarthy-skinned, with his features weathered and worn by exposure, and an unruly mane of black hair tamed back into a ponytail behind his head and a thick, rough beard, just as dark, over his chin and cheeks, he looked like a Riviani pirate. He even had a small gold hoop in one ear. Or at least he might have looked like a pirate if his features weren't carved into an expression of such grave solemnity, such austere dutifulness, that any Templar would have found it impressive. Incongruous too was the richness of his armour. It was all of flashing, glinting steel polished to a brilliant sheen and carved across the cuirass and the shoulder plates with a delicate spiralling pattern that showed a considerable artistry. A warrior's functionalism ruled the leather straps clasped at his waist, another over his chest from which the two blades that he bore across his back hung. Swords…in the presence of the First Enchanter? But from the waist too hung an open robe, of white, that encased his armoured legs to the ankle in swathe of priestly purity. Cullen didn't know what to make of it all, but he decided immediately that he didn't much like this man.

"Yes" Irving answered, he seemed to draw something from the stranger, strength, or a sense of purpose. Something passed between them, even as the stranger kept his eyes fixed on Lillian and she on him. "This is she" Lillian…what did they want from her?

"Irving, you're clearly busy" Greagoir muttered, somewhat begrudgingly, making his way to the door. "We'll discuss this later." Cullen shot Lillian another glance, but she didn't even notice. Why was Greagoir leaving her here with this man, and the First Enchanter who had some plan in mind? They should put a stop to it, all of it, right now. "Cullen" Greagoir barked abruptly, peevishly. "Come along, boy. You have a watch you're neglecting" Cullen moved slowly, resentfully, dragging his feet as much as his duty allowed. He didn't appreciate that this stranger could see the Templars cast out by the First Enchanter. As he passed Lillian, she tore her gaze from the stranger's momentarily, and for an instant their eyes met once again. Again the depth, the purity of the blue in Lillian's eye struck him, like looking into the night sky on a starless night. She was nervous, but not afraid, and yet he longed to stay, to protect her if he had to, in case, since there was something wrong by the order and rule of the Tower here in this room. But duty commanded him, and duty was his life. He looked away in an instant, an instant in which something so much longer had passed between him and Lillian, and found Greagoir once again. His mentor beckoned, and together they left the office in the cold and functional silence of the Templars, his steps unconsciously falling into the steady beat of the march that defined both their lives. Duty, once again, called…and damn him if he didn't crush his heart under its iron command.

Oooo00000oooo

First-Enchanter Irving had always counted on his instincts. You needed them, after all, to rise this high in the seething morass of the Tower's politics. And all his instincts told him that the young girl who stood before him nervously, as slender as a young sapling, and gowned all in pristine, icy white, was the one who the Tower would choose to succeed him on his death, if he did nothing to stop it. He had resisted it at first, it had seemed utterly unlikely that a creature quite so naïve, so child-like, could ever ascend so far, but it had become clearer as time had diffused his clouded vision. She'd have the support on the strength of her magic alone, her enchanter tutors, him least of all, were already awed by the subtlety, the grace of her power. She had an untapped well in her, and Maker alone knew what she could accomplish in the years to come. There were many who'd vote by that alone, as was strictly the traditional way to do things. She'd have the Templars too, and that counted for a great deal. A very great deal…if the lumbering machine of the Order ever got into gear it could bludgeon the whole Tower into submission, and if anyone could make the Templars move, it would be Lillian, especially if young Cullen had the helm. Most importantly, she appeared relatively inoffensive, and easy to control. The Aequitarians would take her as a compromise candidate, the Loyalists would actively embrace her as one of their own…even the Liberterians might condescend to supporting her. Uldred knew his possibilities were too radical for his own bid to succeed, no matter his ambitions, but Lillian seemed easy to control, manipulate, and he would take that chance once Irving was no longer alive to hold him in check. That was enough of the Tower for a healthy majority and someone as quiet and studious as Lillian, who could believe that anything would ever be wrong with that? But, looking at Lillian, whom he loved like his own daughter, Irving knew to his core that this young woman would destroy the Circle entirely.

"Well, then…where was I?" Irving realised that both Lillian and Commander Duncan were patiently waiting for him to settle his thoughts. Damn his age, it was becoming more and more difficult to focus on what needed to be done. "Lillian, child" He stepped forward, stretched out a hand to direct his young student's gaze back to his old friend. Lillian obeyed dutifully, as she always did. "This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens" He saw the shock flash over Lillian's features for an instant, and knew the child's quandary. The Grey Wardens, the legendary warriors, figures from tales and songs, sworn enemies of the Darkspawn, and reputed to be as extinct as the creatures against which they'd fought since the last Blight some 400 years ago. Reading Lillian's features as intimately as he could, he saw the moment when the spark lit and she understood. If this was a Grey Warden, here, then the tales and rumours were true, and the war in the South was actually against the Darkspawn.

"A pleasure to meet you, ser" Lillian hid her shock under an antique curtsey and a polite greeting. By the Maker, what an odd girl she was.

"You've heard about the war in the south, yes?" Irving continued, as Duncan nodded back to the girl. Irving had already told him a little about Lillian, a little, not everything, of course, but enough to pique his interest. Mages were of such demand for the Grey Warderns, that their commander in Ferelden made it his business to know something of magic, enough to make sure that he found Lillian a catch indeed. "Duncan is recruiting more mages to join the King's army at Ostagar" Lillian blinked, and her eyes flashed back over Duncan. She must know that this was one of the only ways a mage could leave the Tower, as some had done over the centuries. But the prospect, one that would have thrilled so many others in her situation, filled her with an unspeakable dread. Forgive me, child, Irving thought again, for what I must do.

"With the Darkspawn invading, our Order needs as much help as we can get" Duncan leaned towards her. He was not the most human face to present for the Grey Warderns, but after so much time spent recruiting for his order he knew how to calm and charm a frightened and bereft child. Practically dead to the world in all other things, Duncan could show great affection to a student and inspire it in return. It was something Irving had always aspired to emulate. "Especially from the Circle"

"The Darkspawn…really are invading?" Lillian gripped her sleeve. She was frightened, and more so than most. After all the Darkspawn were the spiritual ancestors of the mages, at least the Chantry said so. It was sometimes best not to take what they said too seriously.

"They've formed into a horde in the Korcari Wilds" Duncan nodded curtly "And they threaten to invade north into the valley" He was always most at home speaking of such things, tactics, battles… "I fear if we do not push them back" The Grey Warden continued "We may see another Blight"

"Duncan" Irving chided, as Lillian flinched visibly. That was enough of that, far too much, she did not need to know that yet. "You worry the poor girl with talk of Blights and Darkspawn. This is a happy day for her"

"We live in troubled times, my friend" Duncan answered briefly. He was far too direct, this would have to be a great deal more subtle if they had any chance at all of pushing Lillian into place.

"We should seize moments of levity, especially in troubled times" Irving quipped. Duncan was too grim, a fault of many of the Grey Wardens, but what did you expect from the Order? And they treated their recruits with all the respect and sensitivity one would never find from the Templars. That reminded him…Lillian… "The Harrowing is behind you" He addressed his student with a note of pleasure he couldn't conceal. She had done well, poor girl, very well. The glow of pride was a small comfort, as he thought of how he would seize everything out from under her. "Your phylactery was sent to Denerim last night, and now you are officially a mage within the Circle of Magi" He continued in the same vein. He had said these words many times, but never quite with such joy.

"Forgive me, what is this phylactery?" Duncan asked curiously, as Lillian bowed her head humbly to accept his praise with a heart that would never quite believe herself worthy of it.

"Blood is taken from all apprentices when they first come to the Tower" Irving explained to his friend. Strictly, this was a secret of the Tower, but he didn't mind bending the Templar's rigid rules sometimes. He needed a way to amuse himself. "It is kept in special vials, here, in the Tower, until they come into their own."

"So they can be hunted if they turn apostate" Duncan understood, as he always did. A man of the world, this one, he knew its dirty compromises so well, mainly because his one grim and final purpose compelled him to rise so completely above them.

"Indeed" Irving nodded. The phylacteries were tools, a necessary evil. He had seen them used a number of times in his tenure, every time the unfortunate apostate had been tracked down by their magic and slain. One of those compromises… "Lillian, child, I simply wished to congratulate you on a job well done" Irving said at last, no need to alarm her. He wondered how much she suspected there was more to it than that. She was an innocent, but she wasn't stupid. And if this Tower ever made the mistake to think she was…well…the consequences would be extremely dangerous. "And to inform you of this development in your progress here. The rest of the day is yours, and I imagine you would like to probe what new sources are available to your studies on your elevation" He paused and glanced at Duncan, as though the idea had just occurred to him. "Would you mind escorting Duncan back to his room in the guest quarters, first though, child?" He requested, with a smile at his student.

"Of course" Lillian looked surprised, but complied instantly, as always. "Thank you for everything First Enchanter…" She breathed, with that aching sincerity that crushed Irving's heart. "I couldn't have done any of it without your help" Irving shrugged, though he knew it was true. Her magic was so subtle that it had needed the most careful guidance. But the world was the best teacher of all, as Lillian would soon discover, no matter how unwillingly. "Ser Duncan, would you like to follow me?" She bowed courteously to the Grey Warden, and Irving smiled with amusement. Of necessity he knew nothing of the apprentice's circumstances prior to the Tower unless it was absolutely crucial. But he liked to suspect that Lillian had noble blood.

Yet, as Duncan nodded his farewells, and turned to follow Lillian away, and she said something to him that Irving no longer could hear, and Irving's gaze fell upon Lillian's slender back in that gown as delicate as a wildflower, his smile faded away entirely. All his life he had served this Tower, and he had sacrificed much to see it one of the safest, most accommodating, most welcoming Circles on Thedas, especially compared to that nightmare in Kirkwall. He had maintained its pride, with the deals and compromises that had been passed on to him from those who had come before, and re-trod their steps to lightly defend the rights of its students to learn, to live, to enjoy and take pleasure in what small things their fate had afforded them. Never had he made a sacrifice as painful as the one he was planning, and never had any decision he had made been so torturously doubted. But he knew it was necessary.

Lillian could not be First Enchanter, not as she was. He had tried so hard to heal her, to get through to her, to teach her what he had learnt, but he had failed. She would turn the Circle of Ferelden into a prison, a shadow of the guilt and grief within herself. Cullen was to be Knight-Commander then too, if Greagoir had his way. Never had a Knight-Commander and First Enchanter ever shared a bed, thank the Maker, but those two…they would not be able to resist each other for ever. And Cullen would have her, and by the Maker that young man would speak the Chantry's harshest whispers in her ears and she would take them to her wounded heart. Under his direction she would slowly, but surely, with the best of intentions and the sincerest of beliefs, force change and restriction upon the Tower that would break it entirely. The Liberterians wouldn't stand for it, the Aequitarians might even rise with them, and they'd have civil war in this place Irving loved so much. She'd win, of course, with the Templars, but it would destroy her too. And the Tower would be left a shadow, with many whom Irving had himself trained and whose objections and points of views he understood so well, murdered for their beliefs. And Lillian would stand alone with harsh and bigoted Cullen, broken and bitter, and she would lash out at last against the world which had treated her so ill. Every student which came after would feel the sting of her wrath. Irving could not allow it. He loved her so much, too much, but he could not let her destroy everything so many had given so much to build.

So…Duncan…and this sacrifice, this one great sacrifice, of Lillian herself. If she joined the Grey Wardens she would leave the Tower behind. She would not become First Enchanter, another, Petra, maybe, or some other inoffensive student who nonetheless had the know-how and the understanding to take over would take her place. Things would go on as before, and Irving could die knowing he had saved the Circle but had sacrificed the girl who was like a child to him. Lillian might die, he knew that full well, and even if she lived it was a life no one would envy, the Grey Wardens, well…no one would envy it except a mage imprisoned in a shadow of her guilt. Maker willing she might find some happiness, some way to accept who she was. She would never find that here. Irving turned away, walked haltingly to his window, and looked out over the lake under the morning glow. Lillian would never join the Grey Wardens willingly. But he had a way…


	5. Chapter 5: Decision

_First and foremost, sorry about the inexcusably long delay. I'd felt a bit stuck on this story for a long time, and I think it was because of some difficulties with how I'd represented some things and characters, so in the immediate future I'm going to go back and edit and change around a few things that don't fit so well with the ideas I've had. Over time I'll let you know what I've done. Don't worry if anything in this chapter doesn't seem to gel with what's come before it (it's been so long who knows if anyone remembers what happened or is still reading!). I'll change things around soon so the story flows better to this point. Anyway, I finally, on a random stroke of inspiration (they happen sometimes) managed to finish this chapter at last. Yay!_

_Thank you to everyone who's liked and favourited this story during the long delay, I have been seeing them pop up and it has given me impetus to continue finally. Drop me a review if there's anything you think about! Thanks a lot for getting this far! :D_

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"Mistress Amell" Lillian started at the sound of the stranger, Duncan's, voice at her ear, speaking her name in that oddly formalised, but stridently forward way, like a military commander addressing one of his subordinates. She turned quickly, with a reluctantly polite smile to her guest, and met his strikingly direct gaze upon her face once again. Again she felt stripped bare, down to the essentials of who she was, her usefulness, her resourcefulness…there was a challenge in it too that reminded her of when Irving pushed her to the limits of her magic. Duncan seemed to be demanding that she impress him too, though she had no idea how. "Do you mind if I ask your age?" The Grey Warden continued, showing no sign of any awareness of her discomfort, or at least not lessening the forcefulness of his gaze. It was very odd, he seemed perfectly friendly in his every mannerism, polite in every question, if a little direct, but…she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being tested.

"My age?" Lillian blinked dumbly. Duncan nodded, without saying anything. She flushed at her own awkwardness, no doubt he'd think her a simpleton and she'd disappoint First Enchanter Irving again. "Of course not; I'm…seventeen"

"And you've spent your life in here?" A brief cursory glance around the ornate stone that surrounded them, and then Duncan returned his gaze to hers. The pair of them were making their way down one of the corridors Lillian had rarely used, from Irving's rooms to the guest quarters in the south-facing wing of the Enchanter's floor, but she still knew the area like the back of her hand. It was richer here than nearly anywhere else, with the Tower proudly displaying some of the wealth that the lucrative business of lyrium crafting brought it, alongside the craftsmanship of some mages who had turned their gifts to such admittedly beautiful vanities.

"As long as I can remember" Lillian confirmed with a small note of the pride she felt in the Tower, and the life that had been made for her here in her voice. She did the Maker's will, what more could anyone ask for?

"I see" Duncan answered curtly. "And in all that time you've never thought of leaving?"

"Leaving?" Lillian paused mid-stride, aghast, and Duncan politely stopped beside her, scrutinising her even closer than she suspected. "No, never…" Flustered, she ran a hand nervously down her sleeve, the question physically shook her. "We have everything we need here, everything we're supposed to have." She blabbered, sounding like a child "Outside…what could I do? Where could I go?"

"You could be a great help to the war effort" Duncan answered mildly, inoffensively.

"Oh no, thank you for saying so, Ser" Lillian blinked, remembering her manners and drawing a veil of politeness over the flustered outburst that had proceeded it. He was trying to recruit her, that was all, for his order, or for the war in the South. "But…not me. My place is here, in the Tower"

"I see" Duncan repeated, and she wondered what exactly he meant. What did he see? She remembered that the Grey Wardens possessed the ancient and inviolate right to forcibly conscript anyone they wished, prince or peasant, into their order…the thought sent a stab of panic through her. She couldn't fight, not the Darkspawn, she was no heroine, she was just plain Lillian, and she belonged here where the Maker commanded her. The world outside…she felt dizzied at the thought of it: soaring skies, cities, crowds, wars, murders, fear and loathing of mages…she felt a lurch of disorientation at the very thought of being forced out there. Surely Duncan wouldn't do that to her? Would Irving trust him if there was a chance? She shot a cautious glance at the Grey Warden as they moved on in silence, his concentration seemed to be turned entirely inward, his features set in stone. What was he thinking? "Mages are invaluable to the war effort" Duncan continued in the same mild tone, as if this was a scholarly lecture and not a life and death choice. "Even if they choose not to take the Grey. The Darkspawn have their own mages, but we must gain this advantage over them at least. Maker knows, we have precious few"

"Didn't the Circle already send mages to the front though?" Lillian asked, curious despite herself. Maybe he meant Wynne… "My teacher…Wynne and others left weeks ago"

"They did" Duncan conceded "But only seven, and none have elected to join the Wardens. It's not nearly enough and with King Cailan's permission, I came here seeking a greater commitment from the Circle"

"I hope…you have success" Lillian suddenly felt uncomfortable, knowing that what Duncan was asking was so very important, and the mages who went would be a shield to all of Ferelden. Surely that was the Maker's work too, protecting people? But she couldn't…she couldn't go. She was too afraid, too weak to go out fighting. "But the Templars know best"

"Perhaps" Duncan shrugged his armoured shoulders "Yet the Darkspawn are a far greater threat than any abomination or blood mage; you should know that after the last Blights it took decades for the world to recover." He sighed grimly, and Lillian shuddered. If it truly was a Blight in the south and it was not stopped as Duncan intended, none of Ferelden would be safe, the Tower included. The war might come to her whether she liked it or not. "But I am sure you do not wish to hear the worries of an old man" Duncan smiled with a certain paternal self-deprecation that embarrassed Lillian acutely for some reason. She wanted to say he wasn't old, at least in comparison to many of the enchanters she knew, or that she was sincerely interested in what he had to say, the polite things, but somehow they just wouldn't come and fell dumb, kicking herself inwardly for her impoliteness. "As Irving said, you have a right to a day of celebration. I hope you do think on what I said though."

"Here is your room, ser" Lillian noted diplomatically, glad of the distraction so she didn't have to answer that, as they came at last to the guest quarters. One of the most luxurious rooms had been made available for Duncan, one usually reserved for the noble parents who had influence enough to be allowed to accompany their children to the Tower for one brief last visit before they left them behind for ever. Lillian sometimes wondered if her own parents had ever set foot in the Circle Tower like them, but she remembered nothing about them. Her past before the Tower was a blank, a cipher. She was nothing outside these walls.

"Thank you, Mistress Amell, it was generous of you to give me your time" Duncan lapsed back into kind, if distant, politeness. But Lillian, now she'd heard him speak of the Blight, could now see his charge carved deep into his features. It lay just beneath everything he did, even the most innocuous gesture carried its heavy solemnity. She'd read sometimes of the Grey Wardens in the past, their terrible sacrifices and their one grim duty, and suddenly she saw that legend in the reality of the man Duncan before her. It was a sobering thing, and she paused a moment as Duncan lingered at the threshold of his room, before she realised that Duncan seemed to be expecting something more from her.

"Was there anything else you needed?" She asked quickly, glancing briefly into the room. It looked perfectly satisfactory, but she prayed there hadn't been some mistake.

"One more thing, Mistress Amell" He added curtly, fixing her in that implacable gaze. "One more question if I might?"

"Of course" Lillian answered automatically, though she felt a brush of apprehension at what Duncan might exactly want from her. The solemnity of his demeanour suggested it was business, and she doubted that anything Duncan did or said was frivolous.

"Are you happy here in the Tower?" In the end she would have expected almost anything but what he really asked. The question, so unexpectedly innocuous, hit her like a blow and she swung in a sudden disorientation, but Duncan's gaze on her fixed her in place, forced her to dive into the idea itself. Happy…in the Tower…? What did he mean? What could he possibly want her to say? Images flashed through her mind…Jowan's damning sneer, Cullen's shy smile, Petra and the others flashing by in their glamour, Greagoir and the Templars…waking each and every day enclosed in stone…the gardens the only brief glimpse of anything beyond the walls, the long vigils in the Chantry in the flickering candlelight until her knees ached, begging desperately for absolution she couldn't feel. And more than anything else the aching loneliness…the unbearable guilt relived over and over again with each new day.

"I…why…?" She swallowed, tried again, fumbling pathetically in the folds of her gown but the words still stuck in her throat. Duncan didn't move, didn't speak, but somehow the question still pressed upon her, and she suddenly saw a glimmer of pity, unexpected, unlooked-for, in his eyes. But pity from this man, this stranger, who was bowed down by the grimness of his awful duty, who would lead mages to die in a terrible war if he could, only set her even more on edge. "I do my duty, Ser Duncan, what more could I ask?" She spoke the only answer she had, her voice sounding hollow and empty even to her own ears. "Good day, may the Maker bless you" And she turned from him, and walked away without even waiting for him to farewell her in return, her footsteps ringing on the stone. She felt Duncan's gaze upon her back, felt his pity like a brand in her flesh, and she knew that he would take her, and gladly, from everything that made this life as it was, and he would make her life anew in service to his cause. A new life, a new chance…away from everything she knew. The Tower was her life and her penance, her duty, she was already claimed by the Maker. She couldn't simply flee from penance, from the Maker's will for her and all mages. And, Maker, why was she so discontented with that? At least she was safe here…safe from herself and everything else evil in the world, safe from the people who would hurt her for being a mage, who didn't understand like the Templars did, and safe, most of all, from her own sin. Duncan, though he seemed oddly paternal, couldn't protect her from herself, from her curse, like the Templars could, like Cullen could. Cullen, oh Cullen, to leave him was even more impossible than leaving anything else here; yet somehow even the thought of him as they were, only friends, made her heart ache even harsher with longing and loneliness. She knew Duncan's words and the chance he'd offered her would haunt her, maybe for ever. It was that momentary chance she might have taken, had things been different, had she been different. But she was not. And yet…somehow, though it was a wish she'd often had, never had she wished with quite the same sadness, the same ache of longing, she suddenly found herself wishing that she was different.

Oooo00000000ooooooo

When she was disturbed in mind or spirit, somehow Lillian always found her way to a particular small side garden of the Circle Tower. She knew that the Chantry should be her first and last sanctuary, but somehow when she was troubled, almost automatically, she headed down the vast flights of stairs of the Tower, half-dreaming, until she found herself at the little side door, guarded as always by a single sleepy Templar called Ser Bran who knew her well after all these years and always let her through provided she listened to one or two of his jokes first. She'd head into the walled, enclosed gardens for hours, sitting in the cool shadows under the elegantly coiled trellises, entwined with flowering white lilies like drops of ivory, or by the small trickling fountain that lay in the centre. It was a beautiful place, entirely enclosed like a pearl within its shell, but for the open sky. And, as for that, it was one of few places a mage could see the sky not through a window and feel the briefest touch of the wind over Lake Calenhad. In the evening, or close to dawn, the whole garden was awash with the heady scent of the flowers, lilies, orchids, and the clambering rose with its delicate pink flush, and the ebb and flow of Lake Calenhad could just be heard over the walls. It wasn't one of the kitchen gardens, or a medicinal garden, and it was out of the way and largely forgotten, so when she came here, it was almost always empty. The only ones who regularly came here were the Tranquil gardeners and they rarely spoke. Right now, though, it was silent and empty, as she knew it would be. But still her mind would not find any rest.

Her Harrowing…that encounter in the Fade, the first of her worries and she considered it first of all. Sitting there in the garden upon a nest of grass and fallen leaves, alone she found herself still listening for the echo of that song she had heard on that otherworldly wind, the song of that creature, that form in light which had stood between her and the Demon of Pride. The thought of its aching beauty calmed her unease, but it also increased the strange sense of yearning, of loss, she had felt almost unconsciously teasing at the edge of her mind since she had returned from the Fade. She wanted to hear it again. She knew it was sinful, dangerous, as well as foolish to want it this much, for if she were ever allowed to enter the Fade conscious again it would be years from now, when she was trusted wholly and completely by the Templars, an enchanter at least, but she couldn't stop the ache of it filling her mind. As it was she'd intended to research the beings of the Fade more closely, but somehow she couldn't steady her thoughts or focus on anything. Not after hearing Duncan's discussion with Irving, or glimpsing Duncan's intent for her as closely as she had. She still heard his question 'are you happy here?' and still she had no answer, no dutiful or right answer to give. She was afraid of the war, afraid of the Darkspawn, afraid of the Fade…and sickened to the core of being afraid all the time. Her mind hummed and her limbs ached with a curious restlessness that she had never felt before, she felt as though she were caged, and in something too small for her. Slowly she lowered her head into the crook of her elbow, listening to the tides outside, and searching for calm. It evaded her entirely and her usual prayerfulness evaded her.

"Lillian" How long she sat there she couldn't say, but it was evening, and the darkness had already fallen over the small walled place and drenched the garden in a mingled honey perfume of flower scents, when she was jolted into awareness by the sudden sound of her name, spoken in this secluded place, a shock enough in itself, and spoken in Jowan's voice. She raised her head, and turned, without rising yet, to find him standing there in the doorway behind her, watching her intently. He was very pale, almost ghostly in the darkness, swathed in robes of silk of so dark a red that they looked like blood. How long had he been there, waiting, watching? She had never seen him here before, and this place had long been a sanctuary of sorts, but in truth there was nowhere in the Tower that he couldn't find her if he chose. He was looking at her, curiously, as though she were yet a puzzle, as though he had uncovered something that he had not suspected. His cool, colourless eyes glinted intently, and Lillian looked away uncomfortably. What was he looking at? "Lillian" He said softly, almost regretfully. "Tonight you look really quite beautiful." An anguished flutter ran through her heart, a pain so sharp she winced physically, never in all her life had she ever heard that from anyone, and once upon a time she would have given anything to hear it from him. But the circumstances were so disquieting, and his gaze so curiously intent upon her that she felt deeply uncomfortable. It was like he was looking at her, really looking at her, for the last time. It felt like a goodbye…

"Jowan is something going on?" She stood slowly, trying to divert that gaze of his. Something strange was going on here…she didn't trust it, not one bit.

"We need to talk" And then suddenly he was business, and the moment was gone. The business of calling her beautiful…it was just a preliminary she thought, just a way to manipulate her. But she found she didn't quite believe that. There'd been something there…for a moment, foolish as she perhaps was to think it. Then Jowan moved over to her, and in contrast to his usual elegance his steps were halting and hesitant, suspicious, as though he suspected the bushes were occupied by Templars. He was suddenly very nervous, more than she'd ever seen him, afire with suspicion. Lillian instantly tensed, something was wrong here. And she knew right away that she didn't want any part of it. "Do you remember what we spoke about this morning?" His Harrowing, or the lack of one, Lillian opened her mouth to answer, but Jowan shook his head, silencing her immediately. "Not here" He glanced suspiciously into the shadows. "It isn't safe…I managed to send that Templar off on some fool's errand but he won't be gone long. We need to go somewhere else"

"Jowan…" She protested softly, deceiving a Templar, that wasn't just immoral it was deeply dangerous.

"There isn't time" Jowan grasped her arm impatiently, his clasp so firm it dug into the flesh of her arm. He didn't even seem to notice her wince. But before he could pull her away, she dug in her heels determinedly. "Lillian…" She watched his features clench together with a growing, barely contained, desperation. Lillian blinked, she'd never, ever seen him like this. He was almost begging, as much as Jowan could. This was serious…even more serious than she'd thought. "This is a matter of life and death. I need you to…just…for once forget all your shit and just come with me" She blanched but then Jowan's eyes flashed, dark and cold, upon her and she was silent. She told herself that she would do as he bid, be obedient, in order that she could find out what had got him so riled, discover what he was really up to; but truthfully she was too frightened to do anything else. This was a new side of Jowan, a desperate side, a side that was capable of anything. Things had moved so fast, suddenly it was a 'matter of life and death'. How could she say no to that? And it wasn't like he would have taken no for an answer anyway. Without another word, he wrenched her from the garden, and she went, unresisting with him back into the night time shadows of the Tower in the darkness. Curfew had to be soon, they'd be expected back in their dormitories within the hour, but she could tell that nothing was farther from Jowan's mind. They walked, almost ran really, through the silent corridors of stone, and he tugged her up a spiral stairwell as if the very demons of the Fade were behind him. She could feel the desperation in Jowan's unsteady forward tread and his tight, painful grip on her arm. And frankly it was terrifying. What had Jowan done? Despite herself she was afraid for him, but that didn't mean she wanted to get involved in it at all. If he asked, though, would she be able to say no? And then suddenly she knew where they were going, and the thought left her more confused and more frightened than ever…

"The Chantry…" Lillian gasped with shock, as Jowan nudged her forward through the double doors onto the Circle's hallowed ground. It was the last place she would have expected. And besides it should have locked at this hour. There weren't any services right now, only the initiates ought to be allowed inside. And Jowan never came here, he practically avoided the place like the plague. "What are we doing here?" Lillian whispered, her voice automatically slipping into quiet reverence. The Chantry, entirely dark except for the dying light of the forest of flickering votive candles and the ever-present brooding gleam from the eternal flame in the brazier held upwards by a more than lifesize gilded statue of Andraste, was a hall as large as the apprentice dormitories and all the more imposing for not being packed with the detritus of teenage mages. Empty of all life, the pews stacked in silent rows, the usually soothing and maternal statues of Andraste lifeless and imposing in the dark, it was far from calming as it usually was when filled with the life and comfort of the Revered Mother, and the light of the Maker. Above the great buttresses soared up into the vaulted ceiling, slipping into the gloom of the shadows where the light no longer reached, triggering a flow of vertigo in Lillian she barely suppressed. "Jowan" With a hissed whisper, she turned on her companion, who was pulling the doors closed behind him with shaking hands. "We can't be here, now now…"

"Keep quiet!" Jowan hissed back. She pulled back, thoroughly silenced, and Jowan peered around into the shadows, his gaze flickering around suspiciously, missing nothing. "One stroke of damned luck at least…" He whispered, with a nervous intensity. He wasn't talking to her, he was muttering to himself. Maker he was on edge. "No one decided to stick around." Then suddenly he raised his voice. "Lily!" He called, and Lillian, already wound up tight with tension, jumped at the noise that echoed through the dark vaults, and the name was so similar to her own she almost thought he was suddenly shouting at her, except no one had ever called her Lily in her life. "It's safe, you can come out." He said with a tone of gentle solicitude that shocked her coming from Jowan's mouth. It was so convincing she almost believed him. "She's agreed to help us"

"Thank the Maker" A soft, sweet voice, with that melodious ring that Lillian had never known her own voice was lacking up until now, sounded from behind the statue ahead of them, and a figure appeared there, sending her shadow streaking up the walls as she glided by the brazier. "I knew it would be alright…" She whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I knew it" Lillian stared, the woman who walked up to them with an impossible bird-like grace, the woman who was looking at Jowan like he was her first school-girl crush, her delicate features alight with joy, wore heavy ceremonial robes of gold and soft delicate peach. The sun emblem that glowed in the firelight, streaming up in glistening rays from the hem of her robes marked her allegiance, her vows and the impossibility that she should be looking at Jowan with that light on her face. She was a sworn initiate of the Chantry, bride of the Maker. She was forbidden to all men, forbidden to even see the mages except at Chantry, and forbidden to speak to them even then, and to become infatuated with one of them, that was an unspeakable violation as well as an impossibility. And yet she had a serious infatuation with Jowan, that was undeniable looking at her like this, with that glow around her, and that broad, beautiful smile on her perfect lips. She was lovely, her long wavy chestnut hair was done up in a complicated, yet elegant and fashionable, twist behind her head, her features, so soft and gently rounded, were flushed with life and joy. Behind fluttering eyelashes, her eyes were a green so deep and pure it was like looking into a dewdrop glistening on the edge of a leaf at dawn. Lillian felt a rush of envy so strong, so overpowering, so painful and acrid, that she almost staggered back physically. Lily was beautiful in a way Lillian never would be. But so were many others in the tower. The thought that it might be for Jowan's sake was so desperate and sad that she knew it was probably closer to the truth. He'd had many other women, she knew that. And yet seeing this she felt…betrayed all over again and she couldn't tell herself it was because he was unlawfully using an initiate or because Lily was so obviously deceived, oh Gods was there no depth to which she wouldn't sink for him? And him, what in the name of the Maker was this…she sent him a burning glance, feeling faint. But the lovers were utterly oblivious to her. "I told you we could fix this, Jowan" Lily simpered. "It's only right that we get out of this prison together, like I said."

"Like you've always said, my love" Jowan murmured and Lillian felt her confusion and anguish grow at the endearment; his smile down at Lily was so brilliant and so utterly sincere that only with difficulty could Lillian see the lingering signs of strain, the cracks in the façade. Only she knew him well enough to see he was using Lily as he used everyone. He couldn't love anything. Lily might think she loved Jowan but she didn't know him at all, Lillian saw suddenly, and of course that was the way he meant it to be. Why she was thinking like this, and why it brought her a bitter satisfaction to do so, was beyond her. She only knew that Jowan had left his claws deep inside her, and even seeing him like this couldn't rip out the lingering desperation for him that still plagued her. It was that desperate, hopeless feeling which rose in her again now. "Lillian's going to help us" He took her arms in his a protective clasp and nodded to Lillian courteously as if they were good friends and he a gentleman.

"Thanks Lillian" Lily turned on her, her smile only a little less brilliant. "I can't say what this means to us." Clearly it meant enough to her to break her solemn vows and forsake the Maker…Lillian thought desolately. She couldn't answer Lily, even if she had known what to say. She knew the girl was just like her, another of Jowan's cruel games, but instead of feeling kindred with her, she foundered on jealousy. It was useless, and wretched.

"Jowan…what is this?" She whispered, turning instead to her erstwhile lover and friend. "You're with an initiate, that's utterly forbidden. How could you…?" She paused, feeling shameful begging rising in her throat. He looked back at her, and the oblivious Lily couldn't see what was in his eyes. But Lillian could. They coaxed, threated and begged her all at once to be silent, not to breathe another word. He was desperate…this act with Lily was no frivolous and immoral deflowering of an initiate for the dark pleasure it would bring him as she'd suspected without even knowing she suspected it, it was a last-ditch chance to save himself. And before his desperation she was silenced. What had Jowan got into? What had he dragged her and Lily into?

"We're in love" Jowan confirmed with utter conviction. Oh how false you are, Lillian screamed in her head, and yet he acted with such sincerity that even her breath caught in her throat. "That's all that matters."

"You haven't told her…" Lily's long dark eyelashes fluttered with confusion.

"She needs to hear it from both of us" Jowan barely took his eyes from Lillian. She felt paralysed by his gaze, swimming in confusion. "She needs to understand what's at stake."

"Lillian, you're Jowan's good friend, aren't you?" Lily murmured, comfortingly, sensing Lillian's anguish but unable to see the cause of it was the man who stood so close and threatening by them both, imprisoning them in the coils of his malice. How could she not see it? How could she be so oblivious? "You'd help him if there was trouble? You'd do this for us, wouldn't you?"

"What is going on here?" Lillian forced the words from her throat. "What's the real reason for this?" Added to the boil of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her was a growing terror, a terror of this clandestine meeting, the shadows, the whispers, the empty Chantry, the privacy, so rare in the Tower, and what it meant: for her, for Jowan, for Lily. They were in some kind of terrible trouble, and now she was involved. A part of her wanted to run away before she heard what it was, end this before it could go any further. But she couldn't leave without knowing why Jowan had done this to her, why he had seduced this girl, and in knowing that be able to put down the love she saw in Lily until it was as vile and wretched a thing as her own unbreakable bond with Jowan was. Laid bare, her own motivations were base and cruel, but she couldn't stop herself.

"Lily and I have been seeing each other for a while now, in secret" Jowan continued. Only he could have gotten away with this, only he knew enough dark places in the Tower where they could be unnoticed. "We couldn't let the Knight-Commander, or the Templars, or the First Enchanter hear about it. None of them would understand. That's the only reason I didn't tell you about Lily sooner. I hope you understand."

"I do" Lillian whispered, numbly, knowing it was exactly what he wanted her to say.

"We can't have a future here" Lily rushed on, determinedly. Lillian was surprised, the girl did have some spirit, she was not Jowan's usual type. "Not while I'm trapped in this awful place filled with all their useless muttering and that hag of a Revered Mother hovering over me at all hours. And Jowan…" She paused suddenly, her face going white with fear all of a sudden. She couldn't hold the truth in any longer. "They're going to make him Tranquil Lillian"

"Maker…" Lillian breathed, all she dared to say. There'd been threats for years, from instructors, the Templars…even from Cullen but…it had always seemed impossible, something that happened to someone else, not Jowan, not dark and daring Jowan who always escaped punishment, by pinning it on someone else, by quick words and excuses, by the sheer force of his charm. And the Rite of Tranquility was the most dreadful punishment of all, maybe even worse than death. For though the body was left alive, to wander the corridors of the Tower like a shadow, to do small tasks at the bidding of the enchanters, it would never again smile, take joy or sorrow, experience pleasure or pain, never again dream. It severed a mage from his magic, yes, so he was dangerous and in danger no longer, but the cost was a terrible one. She suddenly understood Jowan's desperation, but this meant that not only had the Templars strongly recommended the Rite for Jowan, but also that First Enchanter Irving had sanctioned it.

"I saw the Order on Irving's desk just a few hours ago" Lily went on, confirming Lillian's last thought; her horror was desperate but even worse was Jowan's dark silence. He understood wholly what his recklessness had brought him, but he wasn't ready to accept it, not one bit. "It was ready to be signed. They'll do it any day now, maybe even tomorrow." Lily seized Lillian's cold still hands in her own in desperate entreaty, shaking Lillian out of her stunned silence. "Oh Lillian I can't bear it!" She cried. "They'll destroy everything that I love about him, they'll destroy everything that makes him Jowan, and set him to work like some animal on their lyrium crafting."

"Why would Irving do this?" Lillian whispered, turning to Jowan. "What did you do?"

"Nothing" Jowan muttered darkly, looking at the floor. But the Templars didn't force the Rite on someone for nothing, not even someone who'd done as much to disturb the Tower's peace as Jowan had.

"They think he's a blood mage!" Lily blurted on carelessly, and Jowan shot her a glance that flashed fire, not that she noticed. He hadn't meant her to reveal that. Blood magic was the forbidden school of magic, that came from demonic knowledge, practiced by the Tevinter Imperium but banned in all civilised lands by Andraste's command. It was the insidious practice of using the lifeblood of oneself and others to influence, control or even completely dominate the minds of others. It was immensely powerful, but intensely corrupting. No mage with half a lick of sense would even consider it. And yet there were many cautionary tales, far too many. "Enchanter Uldred sold him out for using forbidden magic before he left for the South, but it must have been just to curry favour with Irving. You must know it's impossible. Jowan would never do something like that…" Oh Lillian begged to differ. Jowan was very much capable of doing blood magic if the fancy took him. But surely he wasn't stupid enough…

"Wouldn't you?" She turned to Jowan, trying to shut out Lily's naïve confidence. "Tell me it isn't true" She pleaded quietly.

"How can you even say that?" Lily was shocked, but Lillian ignored her, fixing her eyes on Jowan, trying to pierce through the cloud around him, even as he avoided his gaze. She'd never seen Jowan look remotely ashamed, and yet…there was something in him now…something that she might just have called regret. It was some darkness in his eyes she couldn't pierce. Was it blood magic?

"It isn't true" Jowan answered, his voice cracking with frustration. "It's just Uldred, damn him, I don't know what his game is." The betrayal he felt at Uldred, his favourite instructor, was real at least. The rest…Lillian couldn't tell for sure. Even she could be fooled like Lily was. Would Irving and the Templars even consider Tranquility if they weren't sure? A whisper that sounded like Mouse, or that thing that had been Mouse in the Fade, told her that they very much would. They had to keep the rest of the Tower safe, they couldn't risk ambiguity.

"What are you going to do?" Lillian whispered. Jowan had already been tried and found guilty. There was no appeal, not against the Templars. Yet she knew the answer before Lily said it, impossible as it was.

"We're going to get out of here" Lily said firmly. "Whatever it takes, whatever we have to do, we're breaking out before they can do that to Jowan."

"You can't" Lillian shook her head. "It's impossible…" Physically alone it was impossible before you even considered that it would make you an apostate, a maleficarum, an outcast from everywhere and forever on the run, cursed by the Maker. She thought suddenly, disorientatingly of the chance Duncan had offered her to leave the Tower in the care of the Grey Wardens. She had refused his offer, now Jowan wanted the same chance she'd cast aside. But Duncan would never take a mage under suspicion of blood magic. The Grey Wardens, only just restored to Fereldan after a long banishment, couldn't afford that.

"It's not" Lily answered, assuming Lillian meant the actual execution of the thing, and not the challenge it offered to the very system of the Circle, which the Maker and Andraste had ordained. But if it were her, if she were faced by Tranquility and she were innocent, would she sit idly by and allow it? Was obedience worth even that? She tried to tell herself that it would never happen to her, to someone who always obeyed the Tower's rules, but the question couldn't be unasked. "But the real challenge is Jowan's phylactery." Lily went on, again Lillian flashed back to the discussion between Duncan and Irving. "If we don't destroy it, then the Templars will be able to track us down in seconds just by his magic." Lillian realised she had been wrong to assume Lily was an innocent victim. Though Jowan was fooling her, that she was bold enough to think of such things meant she certainly was no Chantry mouse. Was she using Jowan to get out of her own unsatisfactory situation as much as he was using her? She certainly had a fancy for him, otherwise why go to the risk of destroying his phylactery, a hideous crime. But did she love the sin, getting back at the Chantry by loving him, as much? It was all so hideous, so sinful, and yet Lillian was neck-deep in it now and she saw no way out. Now, having heard that, she was definitely under the obligation to tell the Templars. It was either betray Jowan or betray the Templars. Each was equally inconceivable. "And that's why we need you." Lily carried on, heedless of Lillian's abject confusion. "The phylacteries are in the basement downstairs, in the vaults where the Circle keep all their secret artefacts. Only a representative of the mages and of the Chantry together can get inside, and you can't be an apprentice. Somehow it knows…"

"You want me to help you break into the vaults?" Lillian whispered, her voice coming out a breathless squeak. This was too much…far too much. It was utterly forbidden, utter folly. If they were caught, they'd be Tranquilled instantly, if not killed outright. She had to remind herself, what had Jowan ever done to expect this from her, an abject betrayal of everything she believed, of her home, her mentors, of Cullen? He'd humiliated her, brought her to the brink of despair over and over again, destroyed any chance she had at happiness, now he flaunted this new girl in front of her, and still it felt like terrible treachery for her to not be able to do this, to save him. Even a true and good friend had no right to ask such a thing of anyone else, she told herself. A true and good friend wouldn't…

"You're our only hope, we had to come to you" Lily pleaded, suddenly desperate. "We can't do it without you. Without you, Jowan gets made Tranquil…" Lillian stepped back with horror, she didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to feel guilty for what Jowan had most likely brought upon himself. And yet she did, every step felt murderous, like she was the one signing the Order on Jowan's head. It felt like tearing herself in two, her natural sympathy and longing to save Jowan from this terrible fate, on top of all the twisted and roped-together feelings of longing and hurt she had for him, against her consciousness of her duty, her love for the Tower and the Circle. Hot tears blurred her vision, she couldn't do it…she couldn't betray the Tower, betray Irving like that. It was against her faith, against her very heart.

"Lillian" Jowan suddenly lurched forward for her, and she turned away, breaking into a run. She couldn't look at him for a second longer. She dared not, because she knew her resolve would falter, and break under his eyes. She got to the door, wrenched it open, tumbled outside in a flurry of tears, and then Jowan reached her and seized her in his arms. She cried out, hoarse and sharp but quickly silenced as she burst into great gulping sobs, fighting off his arms that clung to her like she was a lifeline, pressing her against the hard length of his body so tight she could barely breathe. "Lillian, listen to me…Lillian" He rasped in her ear desperately. Suddenly all the fight went out of her, and she fell back against his chest. She was too exhausted to do this any more. Last night, her Harrowing, then Duncan, now this…everything had been pulled out from under her already. How much more could she take?

"How can you ask me to do this?" She gasped, her voice a croak of horror. "I can't! I can't do it!"

"I didn't want to involve you" Jowan answered, clutching her arms to her chest with a hard, desperate grasp. They were so close, she could feel his rapid, shallow heartbeat through his robes pounding into her back. "But I had no choice. You're the only one I could trust. I can't let them make me Tranquil. Surely you can't let them do that either, you can stop it, Lillian, you can stop it."

"You have no right to say that!" She swung around in his arms to face him, blazing in her anguish, suddenly wanting to look into his eyes. He still held her there, against him, so that their faces were barely inches from one another, their lips almost touching. Their hoarse breaths mingled, as her lungs heaved in rhythm with his. She couldn't seem to find enough breath, and her heart pounded painfully. And yet she suddenly knew; this was the moment, the moment for all the words she'd waited for so many years to say but had never had the courage. Now, he was the one who needed her, the one who was weak and desperate and afraid. "All these years, Jowan…all these years" She sobbed against him, painful tears forcing their way through her words. "You used me like an animal, like a thing! I could have had a happy life, I could have been like everyone else, but you needed someone to hurt, and you needed me to be too weak to say no to you! And now you're asking me to risk my life, betray everything I love. Well what happens if I say no now…I could, Jowan, I could…!" She screamed the last words, heedless of the chance of being overheard. There were no Templars around, as the Chantry was locked up, supposedly. None of them had counted on Lily, no one had.

"Lillian" Jowan's voice broke on her name. He looked stricken. "I know, everything you're saying is true. I don't have a right to ask you, but what I did I did because I was afraid…afraid of losing you. You're the only woman who was always there, who really knew what I was like and still had this insane longing for me. You're the only one I could ever be honest with, you're my only real friend, the only lover who I couldn't let go. What I felt for you, I couldn't deal with it, it drove me mad and it came out like this, like cruelty…"

"Stop it!" She pulled back again, trying to free her arms to slap him at this last, awful indignity, for him to suggest that… "How dare you say that? How dare you…?"

"Lillian, you're in love with Cullen" Jowan cried, and his words fell like a dart upon Lillian's heart so that she gasped with the shock and pain of it. "You might pretend otherwise, but I knew from the moment you came to me three years ago from the Chantry, glowing, and told me about seeing this new young templar across the hall, we both knew then. I thought about losing you to him, to one of our glorified jailors who I hated and you, for some reason, adored so much and I couldn't stand it. I had to keep you, even if it meant destroying this new infatuation for good. I was mad with jealousy. And over the years, as I did worse and worse to you and you still kept coming back and you were so much better than me at magic, and you were so much more beautiful than every other woman I tried to drown my feelings in and still Cullen was the only who could make you smile, and still he was the only who gave you enough strength to fight me, I couldn't stop myself. Sometimes I felt sick at it, but I couldn't stop." Lillian was appalled, he would do anything, say anything…but she couldn't stop herself believing him anyway. She'd never seen Jowan stripped so bare, of all his glamour, of all his charm. He was white-faced, his eyes bulging with terror and pain, his grip on her arms so tight that they ached. He was afraid for his life, and only now was he brutally honest with her hidden feelings as much as for his. She loved Cullen, and Jowan who knew her better than she knew herself, had laid it bare for her, how could she ever have denied that to herself? How much time had they both wasted, pretending it wasn't true? She felt a desperate longing to run to Cullen right now, bury herself in his strong arms and whisper it, confess everything, utterly careless of what would happen next. But Jowan held her to him so tight, as he always had. She saw the desperation of it now, saw his weakness. All along he'd been the weak one. And she'd never loved him like she loved Cullen. They were bound together by their mingled sins, pride, envy, weakness, despair and desire all smudged into one diseased whole, something she'd always known she had to sever from her soul if she ever had a chance to be happy, to be holy, to be worthy of loving Cullen. Maybe, just maybe, this was the chance to do that.

"And Lily?" Lillian asked, unable to answer him on anything else but this, the most peripheral thing of all. "What would she think of this?"

"Lily's just a foolish girl!" Jowan answered, callous in his cruelty even now. "She loves the glamour of it, the daring, the adventure…" Lillian reeled, his thoughts echoed her earlier ones almost exactly. "I was just going to use her like all the others, but I need her now to get into that vault and stop this before it starts. But when we're out of here, I'll let her go to her own fate, free of the Chantry just like me, I swear! And she'll be glad of it, it's all she really wants! But you, Lillian…"

"I'm not going with you" Lillian gasped desperately. There was absolutely no chance of that.

"You couldn't…even if…" Jowan swallowed the rest of his regret and he turned to practicality. "Your phylactery's been sent to Denerim, like the rest. They'd track you down in days. But you'll be safe here; Irving will protect you if there's even a hint of suspicion. I don't have that luxury." He heaved in a great gulp of air, shuddering with anguish. "Just do this last thing for me, Lillian, and you will never have to see me again. You can go to Cullen, you can have the life you should have had…just please let me get away from this." Lillian looked at him for a long time, silent in the darkness, except for the mingled hoarseness of their breaths, and the pounding of their hearts. Through her mind ran every sordid turn their relationship had taken, ending in this heart-stopping revelation of what Jowan really was, petty, grasping, envious, afraid. She thought of how it would be if he was made Tranquil; she would see him every day, working in their craft-shops, walking the corridors, a blank cypher like all the others. Every day she would see him, and every day she would have to endure the thought that she could have saved him, every day she would have to go through the repeated memory of his plague upon her, and their twisted affair, and now knowing finally why he had done it, it would be even more unendurable. It would torment her, poison every part of the Tower, destroy what he hadn't already destroyed in her. She'd never be able to escape him, or the memory of what she could have done to save him. He would own her then, make her like he had always wanted, utterly a slave to him. She didn't want vengeance, she just wanted him gone, gone somewhere far away to make his chances out in the world which was as vicious and cruel as he was. Maybe that was the best punishment of all. Maybe it would free her finally from the mingled mire of desire and loathing for him.

"Alright" She said without emotion. "I'll do it, so I never have to see you again." He nodded, slowly, expecting no less.

"It'll be quick, it'll be quiet, and no one will suspect a thing" He promised bleakly. "We're doing it tonight, right now. Just come back into the Chantry, play the game with Lily for just a few moments more, and then we can get it done. I'll be gone…like I was never here at all."

"Fine" Lillian breathed, oh Maker forgive her, let Irving forgive her, may Cullen never know…but if this was what it took to drive Jowan from her life for ever she would do it. It was the only way to end it all, to sever him from her, make a clean break at last. She thought of Cullen, Cullen who she loved with a sudden unstoppable ache of joy, she'd do it for him too, so she had a chance to tell him finally without Jowan hanging over her like a shadow. If she had to spend every day hence in the Chantry on her knees to atone for the hideous sin of it, and the other sins she had lived out for so long, it would be a price worth paying.


End file.
